30 DECEMBER 1960, Page 23

Not Only At Dawn

That cock crows all day, He crows all night.

Somewhere behind my bed, Somewhere behind my desk. He struts his strip of green, Drums on the laterite, and crows.

Any hour is the hour of danger (No warding off by book or film), Any hour can be that hour.

Stumping among discoloured jasmine, He warns you that you are not sure, There is no close season.

A bundle of worn talons, tights, Frayed chest and bloody head, He would not want you to suppose That all is surely well; Crying wolf, when a wolf is there.

I find his music, if monotonous, apt.

D. J. ENRIGHT