Just a hypothesis. The writer was an extremely gifted, sensitive and intelligent young girl, with long hair flowing over her shoulders like the cascading of the Orinoco. "I want to travel and see the world" she kept saying to everyone, but her parents said that she had to finish her homework first. And once upon a night -maybe in the spring of 1960- she wrote this down in the margin of her grammar-book. She wrote it slowly in large round characters, it felt to her as if another was writing and she was surprised when she read her own words. The grammar-book disappeared from the face of the earth and the girl became a woman, travelling a lot as she had intended to do, but she always remembered these magical words, though the years had made her a stranger to her own youth... Lol, se non e vero e ben trovato, if it's not true it is well found, no? But I also have some other ideas...

His name was Rupert Geoffrey W. After finishing his studies at Oxford in 1913 (his father was a wealthy importer of colonial goods) he became a journalist for the Herald, until the Kaiser violated Belgium's neutrality and on the continent began the Great War. Rupert was one of the many who were called to arms (Second Lancers, if I remember well), and he was among the first ten thousand who fell under German machinegunfire in the hell of Passchendale. His body was never recovered and he now rests with many others in the blood-drenched soil of Flanders. A small bundle of poems was found in his room in Hertfordshire and was published by Faber and Faber in 1917. It assured him of a modest place in twentieth century british literature, and present-day anthologies often still contain a few of his "Foundlings"... That's another possibility, and isn't that the "truth"? After all this is the time of the poppies.

so what you're saying is you dont know?

how about taking a shot at part two:
is it any good? :listening:

I know so little. I should have had a better schoolmaster...

colorless..must be a colonialist..colourless..new world poet.reasonable modern...American poet of the sixties..could be a song..cant get any closer..

i dont really remember the actual spelling used for colorless/colourless. i would have seen it maybe in a magazine in the early 60's, so it may have been a one-shot wonder or amateur for all i know. but for some reason it has stuck with me all these years.

for one thing, i remember those paper bird toys on a string and what it was like to spin around watching it fly and whistle-did they have those in england too?

I think they did if my memory serves me right.I do remember the bird whistles you put water in and they made the amazing noise.Its funny how certain phrases or poems stick in your memory.I hope it does not keep you awake trying to remember.Xris

no, i gave up trying to remember ages ago-it is definitely gone. just thought i would throw it out here and see if anyone else had heard of it. thanks for your interest though!

So it's free for all and why not give it a fictional past? What's wrong with imagination? The romans let their history start with Aeneas, and it was a wonderful story. Way better than to begin Rome with a pigstable and some dirty farmer huts. Let's give this poem some New Clothes. Who will say they are the Emperor's ;-)