My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps br To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps br You'd care to join us? In a pig's arse, friend. br Day comes to an end. br The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed. br And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I'm afraid-- br br Funny how hard it is to be alone. br I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted, br Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted br Over to catch the drivel of some bitch br Who's read nothing but Which; br Just think of all the spare time that has flown br br Straight into nothingness by being filled br With forks and faces, rather than repaid br Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind, br And looking out to see the moon thinned br To an air-sharpened blade. br A life, and yet how sternly it's instilled br br All solitude is selfish. No one now br Believes the hermit with his gown and dish br Talking to God (who's gone too); the big wish br Is to have people nice to you, which means br Doing it back somehow. br Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines br br Playing at goodness, like going to church? br Something that bores us, something we don't do well br (Asking that ass about his fool research) br But try to feel, because, however crudely, br It shows us what should be? br Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell, br br Only the young can be alone freely. br The time is shorter now for company, br And sitting by a lamp more often brings br Not peace, but other things.