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The doves purr in the trees. The wild inmatesOf Stoke Park Mental Hospital next doorShout their improper comments from barred windows.Forsythia burns. Homely wallflowers breathe outThe smell of heaven. The nurses and the patientsAre taking tea in the deckchairs in the garden,Under the trees, Depressives and obsessivesCall gaily to us as they play at croquet.The epileptics doze off in the grass.Caged in normality, we dumbly watch