Ode to a young English poet

Times have changed,
and now this earth
is distant of the
dark ground from before.

Even distances have
found their new value;
shortened, they call out
ever more to curious ears.

But still some things
have been more resistant.
Those headlines of alarm,
and of condescension.

The echoes in hallways
where power creeps,
clutching papers and reports
with looks of old concern.

And still, far from
those famous steps,
young dreamers drink
from waters that carry your name.


So, what do you think?

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