On the death of Jo Cox M.P.
Erect more walls, demolish all the bridges,
Put away your hearts and freeze them in your fridges,
Send round the bully-boys to frighten little children,
We will forget them, soldiers by the million.
Turn back the clocks, and cast us off, alone,
Blow the attack dog whistle, throw them a juicy bone,
Telling them: "Your women will be raped, go get your guns!".
Now motherless they mourn, a daughter and a son.
The aircraft's vulturing flight above our heads,
Mocks at her memorial: She Is Dead.
We wear Yorkshire roses, symbols of our love,
As storm clouds gathering weep for her, above.
We, the folk of North and South and East and West
In mourning black, or working rig, or Sunday best,
Shared our sun and moon, our talk, our songs,
”Two World Wars' lessons learned”, I thought. How wrong.
Snuff out the stars, spit on the bloodied sawdust floor,
Let rule the thoughtless thug and Neanderthal boor.
Let Britons drown in fascist hateful flood.
Was it for this, the millions spilled their blood?