EC0211

Correction made in pen

Written in Latin, translation:

To the Minister of Power

Would that Fate had put me in Timbuktu
Or the King had invited me with him to Africa
And that I weren’t shivering like this in the frigidarium
Forever seeking the breath of Apollo.
While from the sky Jupiter chills, shrills and snows,
On earth Manny puts out the hearth-fires:
Skilled men are idle, doing nothing for nothing
All for want of electricity.
As in war-time, we go through blacked-out streets
Or pay visits to shops which are barely lit,
While the Official Weathermen start issuing their
Threats of anticyclones again.
On the pitch, Arsenal stop giving the ball a punt,
The dog stops chasing the artificial hare,
The genial flame of Ritz Cinemas goes out,
The light of the Evening Star goes out, the Third Programme stops.
Pursued by the harsh words of February,
We ape the habits of the hibernating dormouse
And pile the bed high with warm water bottles,
So that we may sleep until the warm suns of Spring.