I
There can no longer be dreams of England
Traced out on parchments, in faded lines
No more visions to be had of Albion
To the mud black sea, it is cast
II
Tossed and given to the pounding waves
The bloated corpse in salt water washed
Eroded and erased, consigned in shame
Dream no more of Lost England
III
To each dear daughter a blood red rose
Given at the hour of reprisal
Among the tombs they shall wail -
Everlasting howls into strangers ears
IV
To each departed son deliver a prayer
Amid the blare of heavenly refrains
Echoing words in the wombs of mothers -
‘England Your England, Eternal’
Comments
hilary west | March 23, 2009 - 21:46
Quite elevated, and it seems apposite, from what I know of England !!!
JimTovey | March 24, 2009 - 07:40
But appropriate for the Empire builders of yesterday presumably?!
tcook | March 24, 2009 - 17:30
I think this is very good but the third stanza gives me problems - it should be 'strew' and not 'strewn' I think but it also seems to jar - I think it's the wanton/wanted juxtaposition that seems almost too clever clever. Let's see what others think.
elements | March 25, 2009 - 10:53
I have re-drafted the third and fourth stanzas.
tcook | March 25, 2009 - 10:59
That's much better - a cherry is duly awarded.