Outside the cold wind blows, but inside there is tropical heat And a robin is singing in the Palm House, not a canary or a parakeet. I walk down the spiral staircase and finally our eyes meet. A robin is singing in the Palm House, with a voice honey sweet. Heavy white doors swing open onto sorrow and defeat While a robin still sings in the Palm House, with its voice honey sweet. Phil Hall
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head