“The feel of the day”

That quote about days and feelings for me
Is wholly heartfelt based on true harmony
From the abundance of Nature thats gratefully sought
To the exhilaration of abundant thought
“The feel of the day”
The unburdening dismay
that adrenaline rush
What is the, old boys crush

And the gardener who
Believes he is true
when he says how he feels
And just how it appeals

Through the ego we see
Where he comes from and we
Have to then understand
Keepers of the land

The landowner who
Needs funds to accrue
And extols his great might
Sacrificing the light

So the innocent souls
Who he fails to redress
And The members with shotguns
Who do Not care less

death he controls
And his Gamekeepers too
Hen harriers though
No not what to do

They are so troubled
the financial bell
Rings in the distance
And draws them to Hell

One has heard of late
Those Who wait by the gate
with their shot guns
to fire
for the spurt and desire

To compete in one sense
With the wild birds who will
Never respect one who goes out to
Kill

Not for food but for joy
And a great rush of blood
This gushing of sense
this inevitable flood

Of anguish for Harriers
Hunting the Grouse
Competing with arses
With questionable nous

Titchmarsh comes out
And creates a broad church
Where the rich and the powerful
Join him on his perch
There is no way they could
Ever besmirch,

practical consequence
It comes to bear
The pragmatic effect
Of shooting,I swear

Those shooters have no bloody idea at all
And Titchmarsh won’t knock them
That’s him
that’s his rule

Of thumb, his decision
But he has to see
That so much is wrong
With how that lot now be

The grouse bagging
Heart shagging
All flagging style
Of slaughtering wild birds
And making a pile

Of unthinking
Not linking
The Harriers plight
And Of the imbalance caused
Which can never be right

Hunting for sport
For the power that exists
In the soul of those men
Who show us their fists

So as to enable
Their hunting to be
Allowed to continue
For expediency

It’s not about fairness
Whatever that means
It’s about their advantage
They act like machines

The much wider picture
They all fail to hear
the clamour of feathers
That can never bring cheer

It’s all about game
The grouse is the one
Watching it lift off
And fly into the sun

These simpleton hunters
Exerting their power
Just one pull on the trigger
And the great feather shower

That descends from the skies
That feeling is there
And Titchmarsh holds onto it
And seems to share

That rush of adrenaline
Like the kick of a mule
And possibly sees it
As some kind of fuel

That spirit that drives
Countrymen to desire
To stand in the countryside
To aim and to fire

And watch the birds
Fall with the flash of their soul
And to realise then
You do have control

It’s cost you a bit
But the camaraderie
Was worth every penny
For that symphony

That plays in your head
On those arrogant strings
Was created by those birds
Who using their wings

Flew into the sky
Their escape seemingly
Out of the hands
Of the hunters who be

Down on the ground
But of course a keen eye
And a purposeful trigger
Ensured that they die

And die they do
And the Hen Harriers too
Who are helped on their way
With poison a clue

A cloud seems to form
In the gloom which has led
Some to recall what someone
Once said

Silence is golden
And maybe that’s true
Where’s there’s money to be made
Carry on what you do