There are mummers yet on Cotswold,
Though Will Squele he lies low,
And men sow wheat on headlands
That other men see grow.
Eyes close and copper weights them;
Babes as blind come to birth;
Though John Gaunt’s bets are ended
And shallow Shallow’s mirth.
(Ivor Gurney)
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Based on Topics: Birth PoemsBased on Keywords: cotswold, bets, mummers, squele