30 AUGUST 1975, Page 5

The shuttle

(with apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

I come from haunts of stars and stripes, I make a sudden scuttle Between two most demanding types As back and forth I shuttle.

I steal by pyramids of sand, I glide in ritual dance, To make each party understand, I slide, I gloom, I glance.

I chatter over stony ways, Or slip down through the passes. I sit in aeroplanes for days While drinking endless glasses.

The problems off my back must flow, Which means 1 must be clever, For statesmen come, and statesmen go, But I go on for ever.

Basil Charles