Philosophy’s no use to me today,
Give me property instead, I say,
For Plateau’s cave won’t do, it’s small
And has these dancing shadows on the wall.
Show me something big I can’t afford,
The green eyed monster's getting fractious, bored,
Show me something tasteful and Queen Anne,
With gables mannerist and artisan,
And though it’s sexist, let the owner be a man,
Or better still, two men, with perfect taste,
For women follow fashion, act in haste,
And idly dream and wish, but hardly plan.
Oh, let me scroll the April hours away,
Through endless lists of houses on display,
Oh let me lust o’er something with a park,
Interior scenes in paint shades, subtle, dark,
Like aubergine, sloe black or ink of squid
And bargains all, at several million quid.
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