King Edward's Wharf in Ladywood invites the city set
to a life cut on the bias where the water's not too wet.
You can wander off to Broad Street, live a lifetime of regret,
then recover in a Halcyon of days.
Where statues made by Quinn are hidden in a courtyard square
there's an egg they call 'Creation', there's a wheel that cries despair
and a gallery of angels view the life sized sculptures there.
In this courtyard, there's a Halcyon of days.
An egg set on a pyramid is caught inside a square.
There's a man whose arms would fly out of his treadmill of despair
and a workman in a hard hat eats his sandwiches just there
where a courtyard breathes a Halcyon of days.
But the man beneath the hard hat finds he cannot scratch his head
when he sees a vase of willow, he is sad that wood is dead,
how he'd love to dig the garden up, plant fruit and veg instead
from his labour, grow a Halcyon of days.
If the concierge should see me now, I'm sure he'd think I'm odd
for I'm talking to Quinn's statues as they hide inside the Quad
quoting limericks by Berkeley, can't help wondering if God
has a hand that holds a Halcyon of days.
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