Three Famous Guests En Plein Air

I'd like to see us sitting around, Chewing the cud, shooting the breeze Marcus Aurelius out of the vaulted space of aeons Adjusting his toga, under a buttery sun in the Trossachs Time would creak on its axle, Hit reverse. ‘We're over here' I'd shout, as Charles Dickens Picked his meticulous way Through bee-heavy honeysuckle Thomas the Rhymer would ride in On the back of the wind's song His feet dusting over the heads of pines Making a pig's ear of a landing. He would criticize everything, truthful to a fault. Marcus Aurelius' head would throb like an engine, Pouring out thoughts rare and profound Dickens would open the sluice gates of London corruption, ghosts Pressing their pinched faces against the panes of his speech. ‘Because we don't exist on a physical plane Doesn't lesson our power to influence generations'Aurelius stated ‘Ah, but how many hits do you have on Twitter Or Facebook? ' Dickens countered, Ever the man with his hand On the pulse beat of popularity The superstitious rowan shivered as Thomas the Rhymer sat down. That madcap man who'd gone away with the fairies I was hanging onto the day like grim death Wishing that every second would stretch like a comet's trail