A blight on my brother's "green and pleasant", are the fields of rape i glimpse, thru trees, thru Martinstown. But they make a pleasant picture methinks. They have a certain appeal, if one can put a hold on one's English sensibilities. Better the rape, than more herds of beef and dairy cattle grazing, where once was forest. "We" paved the way for the clearing of the Amazon Rainforests, for cattle, for McDonald's. As the grafitti poet put it - EAT HAMBURGER, BECOME HAMBURGER ! And it became our heart's unease/dis-ease ! But yellow fields are the thin end of the wedge. And if the brother had been with me today, we would, together, have seen, from aboard a bus leaving Bridport's West Bay, a most glorious, quintessentially English, YELLOW FIELD OF BUTTERCUPS ! Thousands upon thousands of 'em. As dense and as yellow, as i have ever seen. And i thought of how many one could've picked, to hold under a girl-friend's chin, and see the yellow glow a'shining on her smooth, white skin, knowing now, that she loved butter. And with her head tilted upwards, one could kiss the softest lips, as once i did, in English fields of green, in this once pleasant land.
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