Safer, Perhaps - but Diminished

See them shuffle slowly as in a mazeOr a cattle pen - a mountain ofLuggage to go with them to the sun.A few though carry baggage which will notBe weighed by polite ladies in sharp uniforms.The past lies heavy upon them as they dreamOf days where country roads lead to pubsWith walls covered in ivy;Stately white swans on a village pondTouch the heart and mock the time;Smoke from a chimney drifts lazily acrossA green and pleasant land.An old black and white swear-free filmIn a black and white world,Fit for a rainy Sunday afternoon perhaps.

But fit for nothing are the old menWho can only rail in silence againstA world in which they are guilty beforeBeing presumed innocent –Frisked by strangers with empty facesStamped and branded by the machine,They try to walk tall across the tarmacAnd smile at the young girls, so young,So human, who greet them on the plane.