England, my England

When asked of home what answer should I give?

Of rooks and conkers round a village green;

or looping riverbanks where herons live;

or woodland walks in summer’s brightest sheen?

Or should I think instead of urban sprawl?

Of littered verges soiled by endless queues;

and gum-flecked towns where wailing sirens call;

and drinking binges fill the evening news?

The land I love is different yet again;

it’s found in pockets deep with charity;

compassion brims and will not entertain

a hoarding of our thin prosperity.

No postcard views nor wasteland blights begin

to find the heart of England: look within.


Just a few days after writing this came news of the tragic death of Claire Squires in the London Marathon. Since then The Samaritans, the charity she was raising funds for, have received over £600,000. I think the sestet of this poem says it all.