First Person

Poetry That Lasts

I usually ask taxi drivers where they come from. It often leads to an interesting journey. When a recent driver said Assyria, I was bowled over. I told him he was the first Assyrian I had met in my life and that I had learnt a poem about the Assyrians at school. I then launched into:   The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.   I don’t think it made much sense to him, but we went on to discuss the place of Assyria in the world. A…

Subscribe to get access to all online articles