The Glugs of Gosh | Page 2

star who fled South from the Bears.
Gaze for an hour
at that little blue star,
Giving him, cheerfully, wink for his wink;

Shrink to the size of the being you are;
Sneeze if you have to, but
softly; then think.
Throw wide the portals and let your thoughts run
Over the earth like a
galloping herd.
Bounds to profundity let there be none,
Let there be
nothing too madly absurd.
Ponder on pebbles or stock exchange
shares,
On the mission of man or the life of a bug,
On planets or
billiards, policemen or bears,
Alert all the time for the sight of a
Glug.
Meditate deeply on softgoods or sex,
On carraway seeds or the causes
of bills,
Biology, art, or mysterious wrecks,
Or the tattered white
fleeces of clouds on blue hills.
Muse upon ologies, freckles and fog,

Why hermits live lonely and grapes in a bunch,
On the ways of a
child or the mind of a dog,
Or the oyster you bolted last Friday at
lunch.

Heard you no sound like a shuddering sigh!
Or the great shout of
laughter that swept down the sky?
Saw you no sign on the wide
Milky Way?
Then there's naught left to you now but to pray.
Sit you at eve when the Shepherd in Blue
Calls from the West to his
clustering sheep.
Then pray for the moods that old mariners woo,

For the thoughts of young mothers who watch their babes sleep. Pray
for the heart of an innocent child,
For the tolerant scorn of a weary
old man,
For the petulant grief of a prophet reviled,
For the wisdom
you lost when your whiskers began.
Pray for the pleasures that he who was you
Found in the mud of a
shower-fed pool,
For the fears that he felt and the joys that he knew

When a little green lizard crept into the school.
Pray as they pray who
are maddened by wine:
For distraction from self and a spirit at rest.

Now, deep in the heart of you search for a sign--
If there be naught of
it, vain is your quest.
Lay down the book, for to follow the tale
Were to trade in false blame,
as all mortals who fail.
And may the gods salve you on life's dreary
round;
For 'tis whispered: "Who finds not, 'tis he shall be found!"
II. JOI, THE GLUG
The Glugs abide in a far, far land
That is partly pebbles and stones
and sand
But mainly earth of a chocolate hue,
When it isn't purple or slightly
blue.
And the Glugs live there with their aunts and their wives,
In
draught-proof tenements all their lives.
And they climb the trees when the weather is wet,
To see how high
they can really get.
Pray, don't forget,
This is chiefly done when the weather is wet.

And every shadow that flits and hides,
And every stream that glistens
and glides
And laughs its way from a highland height,
All know the Glugs quite
well by sight.
And they say, "Our test is the best by far;
For a Glug
is a Glug; so there you are!
And they climb the trees when it drizzles or hails
To get electricity
into their nails;
And the Glug that fails
Is a luckless Glug, if it drizzles or hails."
Now, the Glugs abide in the lands of Gosh;
And they work all day for
the sake of Splosh.
For Splosh, the First, is the Nation's pride,
And King of the Glugs, on
his uncle's side.
And they sleep at night, for the sake of rest;
For
their doctors say this suits them best.
And they climb the trees, as a general rule,
For exercise, when the
weather is cool.
They're taught at school
To climb the trees when the weather is cool.
And the whispering grass on the gay green hills
And every cricket
that skirls and shrills,
And every moonbeam, gleaming white,
All know the Glugs quite
well by sight.
And they say, "It is safe, it is the test we bring;
For a
Glug is an awful Gluglike thing.
And they climb the trees when there's a sign of fog,
To scan the land
for a feasible dog.
They love to jog
Thro' dells in quest of a feasible dog."
The Glugs eat meals three times a day
Because their fathers ate that

way.
Their grandpas said the scheme was good
To help the Glugs digest
their food.
And 'tis wholesome food the Glugs have got,
For it says
so plain on the tin and pot.
And they climb the trees when the weather is dry
To get a glimpse of
the pale green sky.
We don't know why,
But they like to gaze on the pale green sky.
And every cloud that sails aloft,
And every breeze that blows so soft,
And every star that shines at night,
All know the Glugs quite well by
sight.
For they say, "Our test, it is safe and true;
What one Glug
does, the other Glugs do;
And they climb the trees when the weather is hot,
For a birds'-eye
view of the garden plot.
Of course, it's rot,
But they love that view of the