Oh, this green and pleasant land,
Its clear blue seas and golden sands.
Its rolling hills and wooded vales,
Its constant rain and howling gales.
Its cottages with picket fence,
Two Dobermanns for self defence.
Ivy growing round the door,
With signs, to keep away the poor.
The inner cities with their malls,
Tower blocks with grimy halls.
Lifts where addicts urinate,
Graffiti'd walls that spell out hate.
Railway arches dark and damp,
Is where the disenfranchised camp.
The 'working-girls' patrol their patch,
In hope of drunken 'johns' to catch.
But in the suburbs quiet rules,
The middle classes are not fools.
They leave the rich and poor to fight,
And draw their curtains for the night.
Oh, this green and pleasant land.............
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
