To celebrate the glorious twelfth,
cruel men with surplus wealth,
head out for the heath-clad hill,
Not for the beauty of the ling,
nor to hear the soaring skylark sing
But just to maim and kill.
If I were to treat a dog or cat
With mindless cruelty such as that
T’would be prison for a time
But if I take a sporting gun
And blast away a bird for fun
They’d no call that a crime.
We’ve somehow lost respect for life
In it’s place put rebellious strife
To maim with shot and shell
We lost the vision of heaven on earth
And seem intent to haste the birth
The birth on earth of hell.
Some more challenging words to think on.
(by the way, August 12th is the glorious twelfth.)
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