Rambling Fred

Excuse my rambling on so, but my style ought to be consonant with the theme of these lines a tramp called rambling Fred. Knowing where all roads lead eventually, takes time to enjoy the slendour more than Solomon's in field and hedge-row. Sleeping in ditches, he can claim the best of precedents, but what does he do for sex? Every choice involves some sacrifice, that every high-powered executive doth know, but perhaps he's some kind of priest or friar belonging to the Grand Order of Human Kind. To him, whether he says so or no, nature is a temple with trunks for pillars. Does that make him a symbolist like Baudelaire? Do you think he's heard of Ariosto? "'Arry 'oo? No use asking me, mate. Never 'ad an eddy-cation! Spare 50P?" Yet, despite it all, he's rich on survival and a cuppa char. For social security purposes he's got an address in Hitchen, but still prefers to do odd jobs or cadge off friends in St. Albans. Then hasn't he 'dropped (or 'opted') out'? True, his productivity is low, but economists take note - he is a pioneer in low consumption. His example may thus help us overcome the world energy crisis. What does he do when caught in a storm? Though fast cars splash dirty water in his face, something a churchman might call grace, sustains him. Swish-! That was The Lordship's Rolls. Thoughts of revenge? No, they are far behind, for if you really believe wisdom can stand on its own seven feet there's little inclination left to expend your energies on anything less than the quest for life's true meaning. Time is a butler who never quite loses track of the household accounts. Even lords and ladies must eventually muck in with the queen bee and worker ant.