'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
-- "The Owl and the Pussy Cat". Full poem »here.
In celebration of Lear's 200th anniversary, Michael Rosen (BBC Radio 4's Word of Mouth) and Roger McGough (one of the Mersey poets - the one I specifically wanted to see) paid tribute to him by having a nonsensically great time at the British Library today. Poetry is ultimately a performance art, and Rosen and McGough were virtuosos at getting the audience to laugh, chant along and fill in the blanks.
When hiking, there occasionally comes a meditative point where it is just you and your strides. You march ahead into the sun. Other people fade out, their conversations become a radio in the background. The autumn leaves under your feet rustle to the same brisk tempo. You stride on, into a glide.
