The children’s eyes,the ball,the game, the tree

Gold stone from Cotswold quarries, men brought
And built into a way of life for those who bought
Their lives so cheaply.And did not see
The children’s eyes,the ball,the game, the tree
Of life that grew in small backyards and gave
All to those who lithely climbed into its arms,
Why should this not be you?
O Eden, I see that you are nearer now,
In lowly homes where love is free
Than in the temple ,grove and softset brow
Of those who worship God,in churches built of gold
Now  this is simple to behold
When sun is setting, and escapes the ashes
Thrown up and floating in the watches
Of the days of voters’ eyes cast up to skies
And wondering, fearful, what will come
When all the secret deals are done.
So take the gold of Life and let it fall
Into your children’s growing souls,
And let this Cotswold town and spires
Melt into sunset’s glowing orange fires.