I’m so sorry that the Sunday Poem is so very late today. I was up at 5am helping Irish Alice cook breakfasts at her excellent new café at her fishing lakes at Yoke Hill Farm Fishery in Upper Benefield, Northamptonshire.
Boy the Younger and I got back home about 3pm in time for a short kip before taking him to a roller skating party at 5pm. I’m posting this poem and then I shall hit the sack myself. Oh hang on, I’ve just remembered; I have an ice cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge and I intend to take the unusual step of having a glass of wine on my own. I really must drink more….
Leader of Men – by Norman MacCaig – (1910-1996)
When he addressed ten thousand
Faces worked by automation
He was filled, exalted, afflated
With love and ambition for
His fellowcountrymen – in so far,
Of course,
As they were not incompatible
With the love and ambition he felt
For himself. No sacrifice
Would be too great. No
Holocaust. No bloodbath. He
Was affected by the nobility
Of his vision, his eyes were,
Naturally, blurred.
How was he to know
The mindless face of the crowd
Broke up, when he finished, into
Ten thousand pieces – except that,
When he went home,
He found the tea cold, his wife
Plain, his dogs smelly?
Wartime Housewife 
I never drink alone, but seeing as you seem to have had a long day – bottoms up!
I have to assume you meant 5AM, not pm, otherwise it begs the question as to what time you normally get up 🙂
Hope you enjoyed the Sauv Blanc – you deserve it!
I did indeed mean 5am, Bunty and I have corrected it. Just shows how tired I was that I didn’t know my A’s from my P’s. Or something. And yes, the Sauv Blanc hit the spot!