Glossop School Even in the days of Charles Dickens No school had a leakier roof Or a more dubious financial history Wackford Squeers himself Would beg your headteachers for lessons in miscreancy. Maybe it’s true That the women who live there Have the best legs in Britain But their heads are full of wool Which is hardly surprising Because their little brains were broken Between your lamentable walls.                              ____________________________ Ode to a spider living in the eye socket of a long-dead sheep. Fiendish migliomorph, Does the world look very big When viewed through eight eyes From your snug, cartilaginous socket? Do you care That it extends far beyond the nose of your skull Further than the hawthorn tree And even past the wall and down the valley Where the descendants of your bony house Chomp vacantly on rough heather? You may remember the day it didn’t rain Although you might not have been born then But if you were, you might have seen Welsh mountains in the distance And been surprised at the grand scale of creation. My grandmother, with scarce a quarter of your optical organs Saw Blackpool Tower from here On another day it didn’t rain (The one in 1947). It’s foolish to speculate On your perception of the scale of creation. But it’s probably safe to say That there has been more going on in this head Since you took residence Then ever occurred During its previous occupancy. ____________________________________

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