Another of my dad’s poems, un-edited. Written in 2005, aged 89.

What have we done to this fair land of ours,

A land that poets wrote of, as wooded glades bedecked with flowers?

Where are now the local shops, that sold most all we asked for,

The personal attention, goods delivered to our door?

Where are the factories, the shipyards and the mills,

Where once we earned the wages to settle all our bills?

The artificial sunsets, that seemed so very real,

From furnaces, where men of iron, produced the British steel,

To make our ships, to transport goods, to lands both East and West,

And earn the reputation, that British was the best.

Men once took pride in work they did, and lived with dignity,

Now, unemployed, or classed too old, their life’s a misery.

Who is to blame, I ask myself, for the violence and the crimes,

The wanton damage everywhere, is it just the changing times?

Don’t leave until tomorrow, what can be done today,

Tomorrow’s generations, depend on our today.

Don’t squander time; time lost can never be retrieved,

But building for the future, will bring reward indeed.

Promises are not much use, to folk like you and me,

Work, not words, is what we need, to bring us smiling through.

We cannot turn the clock back, we would not if we could,

I myself believe in change, but does progress always work for good?

The food that most of us eat now, does little for our health,

It comes from cans and boxes, from the Supermarket shelf.

Let’s stop, and think, of what could be ours today,

Before our national heritage, has eroded all away.

We have the skills and know-how, to make our country great,

Let’s utilise our assets, before it is too late.