Too many visionaries
View themselves as gods,
But, their divined creations
End with firing squads.
People are so ungrateful:
Heaven’s presented,
Yet those who bestowed the gift
Find they’re resented.
Certainly things are better
Than they were before;
So soon the new becomes mundane,
The demand then is, “MORE!”
Comes down to wire and concrete,
Comes down to wire taps,
Securing the present means
Letting the future lapse.
Sometimes a little vision though
Can become immense,
All could be on the parish,
The hive of Thomas Spence.
