Gold stone from Cotswold quarries young 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 climbed into its arms.
Why should this not be you?
Oh,Eden,I see that you are nearer now
In lowly homes where love is free
Than in the temple, grove,and soft set brow
Of those who worship God in churches built of gold.
Now we must know that this is easy to behold
When sun is setting,and escapes the ashes
Thrown up and floating in the watches
Of the days of voter’e 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.