Here you will find the Poem Progression of poet Francis Scarfe
See that satan pollarding a tree, That geometric man straightening a road: Surely such passions are perverse and odd That violate windows and set the north wind free. No doubt tomorrow the world will be too straight. Five hundred miles an hour will churn our dreams Like surprised whales, when we lie a dead weight In an ignorant sleep, and things will be what they seem. Tomorrow we will hear on the gramophone The music of the Spheres, registered H.M.V. By a divorced contralto: we shall perhaps Meet Adam under glass in a museum Fleshless and most unlovely, complete with pedigree. Or else, tomorrow, workers, kings and crooks Will all have aeroplanes and be fast friends, In a world no longer divided by dividends, Where love will be almost as simple as it looks.
