Tuesday, 29 June 2010

God save me from the porkers.

COUNTY by John Betjeman

God save me from the Porkers,
God save me from their sons,
Their noisy tweedy sisters
Who follow with their guns,

The old and scheming mother,
Their futures that she plann'd,
The ghastly younger brother
Who married into land.

Their shots along the valley
Draw blood out of the sky,
The wounded pheasants rally
As hobailed boots go by.

Where once rabbit scampered
The waiting copse is still
As porker fat and pampered
Comes puffing up the hill.

"A left, a right! Well done, sir!"
They're falling in the road;
"And here's your other gun, sir".
"Don't talk, you're here to load."

God save me from the porkers,
The pathos of their lives,
The strange example that they set
To new rich farmers' wives.
 
Apart from any god's ability to save anything, he got it right.

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