Mr Skiffington Studies The Classics

[Verse 1] Mr. Skiffington, spectacles askew, Bent over pages, worn and faded hue. Not the racing form, nor market's daily grind, But ancient Greek, a different world to find. The scent of old paper, a comforting balm, As he sailed through the Odyssey, safe from all harm. [Chorus] Mr. Skiffington, book in hand, Crosses the room but never leaves the land. From a scuffed-up chair to a far-off shore, He reads one page and wants one more. [Verse 2] While others chased headlines, the latest new craze, He wrestled with Homer, through epic long days. The tales of Achilles, his fury and might, Or Penelope waiting, through endless dark night. He'd trace every letter, each comma and pause, Unraveling meaning, defying all laws. [Verse 3] His wife, she would grumble, "Another old book?" He'd just offer a smile, a knowing soft look. For in those old verses, a wisdom he'd glean, More potent than gossip, or what might have been. He'd quote lines of Virgil, at breakfast or tea, To the cat on the armchair, or sometimes to me. [Chorus] Mr. Skiffington, book in hand, Crosses the room but never leaves the land. From a scuffed-up chair to a far-off shore, He reads one page and wants one more. [Verse 4] He wasn't a scholar, no grand ivory tower, Just a man in his armchair, with intellectual power. The coffee grew cold, the clock ticked away, As he journeyed with Plato, from dawn until day. Exploring philosophy, virtue, and truth, A vibrant connection, back to his youth. [Verse 5] So next time you see him, with that faraway gaze, Don't think he's just dreaming, lost in a haze. He's probably battling a cyclops or two, Or debating with Socrates, something quite new. Mr. Skiffington studies, with passion and grace, Bringing old worlds to life, in his quiet, small space. [Chorus] Mr. Skiffington, book in hand, Crosses the room but never leaves the land. From a scuffed-up chair to a far-off shore, He reads one page and wants one more.