In England's green and pleasant land,
Where cattle grazed on Dale and hill,
Now masked and hooded slaughter men,
Stand silently, to kill and kill.

On ancient hills in Cumbria,
Which pastured once so many sheep,
Lone farmers stand disconsolate,
With head in hands they weep and weep.

In meadows where the poppy danced,
So pleasing to the rambler's eye,
And gambolled lambs so merrily,
Now lifeless bodies sadly lie.

Where golden buttercups did grow,
Now petals sadly tinged with blood,
And smoking pyres of cattle glow,
Where once they fed and chewed on cud.

Oh England's green and pleasant land,
Is sadder now and touched with grey,
Where once our land fed man and beast,
Will it again? Someday! Someday!

The Phantom Scribbler's serious side.