The spotlight is on the broken coastline
porous - like archers spilling arrows
into the vanquished hinterland.
In the ancient West Mercia
wooden bridges collapse
uproar, as the King's regiments
long disbanded , ghosts
into fading memory.
Our defenders, our loyal subjects
enmeshed into the wider fear
our citadels breached,
and where is the valour
the self reliance of our septic isle?