Norfolk
I love to march along the Icknield way:
Bretton Heath, Brickklin Covert and Caistor;
Fring Cross, Sedgeford and Swaffham still hold sway.
The sea sings with Terns and Oystercatcher
As we descend to the cold distant shore.
The air is perfumed with sea lavender
And Norfolk’s rich and abundant secret store:
Shrubby sea-blite, sea aster and rock rose.
Rome, come and unleash my manly desire!
Now take away my Icini motherhood
And bring destruction through blood and fire.
Look upon the Torc, a twisted beauty,
Tortured out of gold, silver and art;
And with unbridled terror, our land depart.
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