Englands Legacy. Poem by Ray Moore

The fingers of long shadows reach, bid a 'goodnight' to the sun
And weary bones will travel home, to each and every one,
There's a peace settles on England's length, a peace that so instils,
A golden silence on the land, its fields and distant hills.

As dark abound, there comes the sound, of full yet measured tread
Two mighty beasts hove into view, a strong youth at their head,
The setting sun formed crowns of gold, on each proud weary mane
And the great hooves sound a melody, along that country lane.

At journeys end, as farm lights wink, they rumble through the gate
Two shire horse of main and might, and hooves as large as plates,
Then later still, with their bellies full, of good clean oats and
rye,
The youth will rub them down, and brush, and croon a lullaby.

But the lanquid peace that all men love, then vanished in just days
While honest folk would stop to talk, of times that would not stay,
The black clouds of oppression stormed, and settled far within
And tavern talk of jackboots, and a madman in Berlin.

The workshops turned from tools that ploughed, to rifles, shells,
and tanks
Once more men march on foreign fields, that strong youth in their
ranks,
Now he still lies there, with comrades true, in that far distant
land
ln a peace so surely forced on them, now safely in gods hands.

Those mighty hooves, a drumbeat now, as England starts its day
While older men harvest the grain, and women beat and flay,
Yet as night falls, they stand in stalls, those soft eyes search
the lane
And they listen still, for a lullaby, they'll never hear again.