E: Sadly my inner strength has ebbed away
leaving me dull and tired. Perhaps today
less of a bold assault - a softer style.
Maybe the great campaign can wait a while.
M: (Who would have guessed - a mild attack of flu
changes him more than all my wiles can do.
Even his rhythm's strange. I'll play along.)
What'll it be today?
E: Perhaps a song
ushering in the Spring. Hail ..
M: Robert Hooke,
constant in time of stretch (it's in the book.)
E: Season of mists ..
M: that's Autumn ..
E: Spring as well
M: by the crowd?
E: Oh, go to hell.
Why are you set on wrecking all I write?
M: Better to wait until you're feeling bright.
E: Pastoral verse can scarcely tax the brain ..
M: Pastoral pap, perhaps. You'll try in vain
ever to synthesize convincing joy
even to fool yourself. I shan't destroy
anything worth preserving, never fear.
E: What do you recommend?
M: A quiet beer.
E: Maybe I should relax ..
M: I hope you do.
E: Follow the set of sun ..
M: to rise anew.