Among the tomes of dust and lore, where empires wax and wane,
I trace the lines of kings long past, of realms once whole, now slain.
Our Queen stood fast ‘gainst fleeting time, a bulwark stern and high,
Yet Charon called, the toll was paid, and left us weak to sigh.
Now Canterbury’s bells grow still, their chimes no longer ring,
While lords and ladies bow their heads to some new shadowed king.
The crescent climbs where cross once stood, upon old Albion’s land,
And whispers speak of banners dark, where England makes her stand.
Oh, where is Boudicca’s fierce cry? Where rides Pendragon’s son?
Shall Cromwell’s iron ranks arise ere England’s fate be done?
Or Towton’s field run red once more with men who vow to be
The shield, the sword, the standard bold, to keep this island free?
(By John Shenton)