Eyes down, the solemn singers tread
Red carpet to cathedral stalls,
An unseen halo round each head.
Kempt blue-eyed blond young innocents,
Intense bespectacled small boys,
Plump, thin, short, tall - their gravitas
Is only equalled by their poise.
And oh ! Those voices ! Can there be
A truer sound, epitome
Of youth,and sun, of love and joy,
A world without depravity ?
The service ends. As robes are hung
Life's reassumed with youthful zeal.
Abuse is hurled and people shoved
And there is noise. The boys are real.
(c) John Wedge
1998
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