Out of skiffle sand were they moulded and breathed
into with the air of lyrics,
but to the skiffle sand would they never returnꓽ
the four zones of the world

A wind vane assembly,
facing the world and backing the earth,
the heartbeat of nations;
the soulbeat of eternal chorus lampoons
this treasured island;
a cornucopia of assortments of green-vowelled verse,
rock-strewn for a celebration of ages eternal. . . .

Lights to a wistful, gambolling Testament,
nonchalant whims
Lights.
And they shine!
Lights . . . Here comes the sun.

Here come the Beatles.