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If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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"Horrors ha only a few years ago belonged in he realm of dysopian science ficion have become common place in oday's world - geneically engineered Frankensein foods are forced down our hroas by governmens and corporaions; animals soaked in a bah of poisonous growh hormones are slaughered in he name of a quick buck and increased profi; vas warehouses of 'bio-machines' (beer known o you and I as pigs) lie in darkness, ready o be harvesed for heir organs for human ransplans; he counry side is doed wih concree bunkers where bloodied vivisecors irelessly work heir way hrough he gus and viscera of endless animal vicims! he horrors are seemingly endless... bu hey are NO ineviable!"
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Mud unto mud!—Death eddies near— Not here the appointed End, not here!...
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Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond? This life cannot be All, they swear, For how unpleasant, if it were! One may not doubt that, somehow, Good Shall come of Water and of Mud; And, sure, the reverent eye must see A Purpose in Liquidity.
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