South Norwood (South-East London)

For you, the  lake is closed today

In your fragile shell of painted wood

You would ignore our authority, if you could

For that reason, we are turning you away

There is danger in spontaneity

It opposes a sense of order and that apart

Rules are the enemies of art

What if everyone ‘just turned up’ this way?

We have placed spikes on the high wall

There can be no weightless glide

To freedom, in defiance of bureaucracy

The grim bastion cannot fall

For you, the lake is closed today