Generations (There Are Mummers Yet On Cotswold) - Poem by Ivor Gurney
There are mummers yet on Cotswold,
Though Will Squele he lies low,
And men sow wheat on headlands
That other men see grow.
Eyes close and copper weights them;
Babes as blind come to birth;
Though John Gaunt's bets are ended
And shallow Shallow's mirth.
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