7 DECEMBER 1951, Page 30

Minority Writes

WE the too minor poets, we (And let's be facetious, call it wee) Are humble enough, God knows, God knows.

Perhaps we ought to have written prose, Not written at all, not tried to sing, To fly, with .a chicken's voice, its wing, Stayed dumb, dumb clucks with beaks agape At the birds of paradise whom we ape, We poetasters, also-rans, We, with not even ourselves for fans.

But if we met our deserved fate How would they know that the great were great ?

You can't. have a Leader without the led, You can't have a sandwich without the bread, There must be a minus to show off the plus, You can't have Shakespeare unless you have us— And you can't have us unless we write So we're going on writing, friends. Good-night.

JUSTIN RICHARDSON.