A stop was put to Kubla Khan
by a man on business from Porlock.
When the poet took his pen to start again,
the thoughts had dried,
and the words were there no more.
But it’s easy to identify
the men from Porlock and their like,
and to take the requisite action.
Our obstacles we rise and meet,
and heroism is everywhere.
We clearly see what we must do.
We can move the boulders in our way.
What’s hard is the gravel of every day.
The waking up and wondering how
to do the jobs that are queuing now.
The hard thing is the common chore,
the “getting and spending that lay waste our powers”,
to use the phrase of his friend.
That dread, dead time from three to four,
when the day appears to have no end,
with a rosary of things to do,
but the will is there no more.