Dieu Et Mon Droit Poem by Gerard Horgan

Sibelius vies with the office shredder
For supremacy of the mind.
Notes echo down the grey corridor
Caressing the ears of the dead.
The sun sets as grey hair sprouts
The ivory tower now cold steel
Where golden books lay unread,
Minds like grain - grist to the mill.
Haughty tones of the sad and lonely,
Careless talk and darting looks
Wild roses in the gardener's glove.
The sound of till and bell
Rich business for the Reaper
Running smiling to the grave.
Thundering hooves
Stale air and barriers.
Trees bow and apologise
Old England has left us!
As we wait to stumble and die
Neath Finbarr's stone feet.