In Which there is published a spurious Dispatch from Poetania: Camisole

Today’s post is dedicated in honour of a friend who is departing for the furthest reaches of the globe (sooner or later; I should probably save this and publish around actual departure time, but I would certainly forget), in fond and inadequate imitation of the blog he had just better continue updating from wherever it is he ends up.

The birds will continue to sing
And indeed,
We should be surprised should they cease.
Life seems unlikely
To alter really radically.
But it will be with a little despondency
That we read your Dispatches.
For although you were rarely there
And when you were, it was late,
The knowledge
That you are not going to guiltily
Melodramatically
Burst in,
Just as the party starts to wind up,
(with stories of the perfidies
of buses and brothers and the BBC)
Will weigh upon our spirits,
Just a little.
And though we deplore them
Though we criticise and plot
To eradicate them while you sleep,
Nonetheless,
We will miss
Your stupid sideburns.