While everyone else is being deep and reflective, I am just going to copy and paste a poem by Auden. It may make me seem deep and reflective, but it’s just an illusion. (A permanent way, from what I gather, seems to be the British equivalent of a railroad right-of-way.)
A Permanent Way
Self-drivers may curse their luck,
Stuck on new-fangled trails,
But the good old train will jog
To the dogma of its rails,
And steam so straight ahead
That I cannot be led astray
By tempting scenes which occur
Along any permanent way.
Intriguing dales escape
Into hills of the shape I like,
Though, were I actually put
Where a foot-path leaves the pike
For some romantic spot,
I should ask what chance there is
Of a least a ten-dollar cheque
Or a family peck of a kiss:
But, forcibly held to my tracks,
I can safely relax and dream
Of a love and a livelihood
To fit that wood or stream;
And what could be greater fun,
Once one has chosen and paid,
Than the inexpensive delight
Of a choice one might have made?
The Meta-Bug 
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