The Flag

The Flag

April 23rd, St. George’s Day


How proudly they’ve hoisted it

above the greening valley!


From the glossy pole it flutters

limply, a butcher’s bandage


shorn from the cloth of Albion.

This to fete the slain Dragon?


I would rather keen its death,

mourn the sainted mission


that yields the calamity

of Earth’s energies oppressed,


ancient vision twisted

into man versus beast.


Ah, and what an abject maypole!

No kin or kith to interplay


their ribbons – instead, a trembling

head, its cross a fragment of the web


which our early ancestors

tracked across these isles. 


And that cross is their blood in ours –

it’s life resurrected at this fecund time,


when blood ripples

on England’s winding sheet.

Helen Moore – ecopoet, Forest Schools practitioner, community artist/activist

Pic: Claire Palmer


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