This is one of my mums poems written back in 1978.
I thought it was very apt for todays worlds climate.
These days of Stress.
These days of stress and massive loans,
With politicians picking bones.
Hearing them most every hour,
In their bid and fight for power.
The men and women of these shores,
Must join to find the present cause
Of the unemployed and stagnant waste,
A rank disease these shores embrace.
We owe to millions we mourn,
To generations yet unborn,
And to the great and glorious Few,
El Alamein and Waterloo.
From Boadecia and the great Churchill,
Brave warriors both,through times of ill.
And most of all we owe these isles,
Toil and sweat,and brave new smiles.
Scotland's mountain,lakes and mist,
With her native strength and thrift,
The hidden valleys and songs of Wales,
Her lilting tongue and Celtic tales.
Ulster's brave and battered face,
Her courage and her fall from grace.
England's green and pleasant land,
Her humour of a special brand.
All this we owe and more besides,
These isles,hemmed in by adverse tides.
We are free to stroll through copse and lane,
To lift our face to the soft Spring rain,
to walk barefoot on our rocky shore,
In one's own church,one's prayers to pour.
Of prosperity,food and drink for all.
And nobody bothers us at all.
With stagnation,apathy breeds,
This anger and intolerance feeds.
So let us move without delay,
And national ills will creep away.
I thought it was very apt for todays worlds climate.
These days of Stress.
These days of stress and massive loans,
With politicians picking bones.
Hearing them most every hour,
In their bid and fight for power.
The men and women of these shores,
Must join to find the present cause
Of the unemployed and stagnant waste,
A rank disease these shores embrace.
We owe to millions we mourn,
To generations yet unborn,
And to the great and glorious Few,
El Alamein and Waterloo.
From Boadecia and the great Churchill,
Brave warriors both,through times of ill.
And most of all we owe these isles,
Toil and sweat,and brave new smiles.
Scotland's mountain,lakes and mist,
With her native strength and thrift,
The hidden valleys and songs of Wales,
Her lilting tongue and Celtic tales.
Ulster's brave and battered face,
Her courage and her fall from grace.
England's green and pleasant land,
Her humour of a special brand.
All this we owe and more besides,
These isles,hemmed in by adverse tides.
We are free to stroll through copse and lane,
To lift our face to the soft Spring rain,
to walk barefoot on our rocky shore,
In one's own church,one's prayers to pour.
We visit Hyde Park to let off steam,
From a box we shout our dream,Of prosperity,food and drink for all.
And nobody bothers us at all.
With stagnation,apathy breeds,
This anger and intolerance feeds.
So let us move without delay,
And national ills will creep away.
