poetic justice

I know I was meant to live here when I listen each Sunday to a radio program programme called "Poetry Please." People actually send in their requests for certain poems to be read aloud.

Heaven.

Today's show closed with the reminder that Alfred Noyes died 50 years ago, and so his epic "The Highwayman" was read. This is passing strange since I had been thinking about the poem this very week, as the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

I first thrilled to this mesmerising (if somewhat grisly) poem as a child, when my dad read it from a tattered copy of his old schoolbook, "Stories in Verse." The things we love in childhood stay with us forever.