A clap went around the anvils of my tears. The country I love
is bleeding to death. Back in my day, everyone was paid in
golden sovereigns, would sleep well at night no one was ill or died
the weather was perfect & you could get 200 pints of bitter
for a quid in a bushel, the English National Dance
was still Boomps a Daisy. In summer, all the streams were drained
& filled with flowers!& Daisies, & oh our boys never left home. They worked hard & made do with nothing.
