There once grew a flower on Salisbury plain ,
the wind blew it ,
the rain fed it ,
the snow let it grow again .
The sheep grazed awaiting their Rams .

The sun rises and sets on each day creeping up on the sleeping village ,
Spinning yarns ,
making houses from hay with tea pots and cake ,
Orchards and fields ,
Meadows and hills ,
cards and shootin* party’s till dawn will soon the evening sun take .

Black menacing clouds evil marched forth ,
a war machine ,
winds of a tyrant where jack boots walked in the east of Europe
Stood their ground .

Now to rumbling sound our little flower lay for Tanks would take this flower away ,
it’s sheep sold for M O D land ,
Knocks on doors reasuring smiles .
From War Generals “ you will. be back some day after Gerry has gone away “
Yes off we marched to fight the war for England and St George .
Our houses and land we will return ,
Pictures and letters left of loved ones we will see again .

Go on a journey far away across fields and land ,
Mountains ravines and hills ,
and each cafe and bridge when you return shall seem forever sweet .
For where you sleep there lay wheat and weeds and bird song to greet the day .

The Church bell still rings for this forgotten town ,
Villagers still remember their loss ,
Of Imbers ghosts of peace and love may haunt the ones  ,
Who first said “yes “ and then said “no “.to love .


W