Dear Vera,
A most astonishing coincidence just occurred. I happened to be channel-hopping while waiting for the Muse to descend, and I caught a few minutes of something called Ladies of Letters on ITV3. I say astonishing, Vee, because the main characters share our own nomenclatures, and whereas the one called Irene is nothing like me at all, you could be the very living template for the one called Vera - from the lack of culinary hygiene in the kitchen to the excess of colour in her couture, you are she to a T.
Sorry. Had to stop. The Muse has at last graced me with her oracular beneficence, and I must needs bow to her will.
Cogitations on World Peace
a poem
by Irene Spencer
Oh World Wide Web you are so large
Your net cast far and wide
For here I sit in Grossthorpe, while
I chat to the globe’s other side.
My words now reach the furthest flung
In corners hitherto hid -
I can be heard in Karachi, can talk to Apache
In fact, I already did.
So why, when we can all chat like this,
As friends at each other’s hearths,
Do we harbour division, allow politicians
To lead us down warpaths?
It is time we stood up and with one voice cried,
‘Enough, let there be no warmongering!’
As my sisters and brothers around the world know
It is for peace we now are hungering.
For so say I, and so say you,
Wanjiku at Yahoo dot com,
And so says Pradeep and Mai Lin and Wafu
And the Cobbley who’s best known as Tom.