This
“Morning yet on creation day”
I took a trip from
“No longer at Ease” Avenue
Through the
“Anthills of the Savannah” gates
Went past
“Man of the people”
Then arrived at
“Things fall apart” quarters
Where:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Alas,
Teach Not my Appointed
And do my puppet no harm.