Poem

I don't do poetry, but here's one that caught my eye by Ian McMillan

FAREWELL:

Farewell to the scarlet coats thundering through woods,
Farewell to the sharp stink of fear,
Farewell to the fox hunt, and I'm saying GOOD; and I'm raising my voice in a cheer,
Farewell to tradition, if that's what it is, though it's feeling quite feudal from here,
Farewell to the blood from a fox hound's sharp kiss and I'm raising my voice in a cheer,
Farewell to the mornings where mist cools your face and England of Cricket, warm beer
and folks in big flat caps who all know their place,
and I'm raising my voice in a cheer.

You're chasing the past, chaps, not chasing a fox; you're chasing a country that's gone,
They've altered the windows and changed all the locks; you're riding a land that's moved on,
and I didn't see the hunters at the head of the crowd when they closed down the factories and mines;
I didn't hear the hunting horn blaring out loud, at the head of the picket lines.
Democracy spoken, the pack's caught you up and let down the tires on your sport,
So please don't be whining like a whipped hunting pup, cos it's farewell to you and your sort.

Farewell to the stirrup cup,
Farewell the thrill of tearing a fox like a shredder shreds bills, and look, there's a fox
and he's standing quite still,
no, he's raising two fingers from the top of that hill,
Farewell to the scarlet coats thundering through woods,
Farewell to the sharp stink of fear,
Farewell to the fox hunt and I'm saying GOOD; and I'm raising my voice in a cheer