Classic Poem

The hooded hip-hop scum
heap up the funeral pyre;
the streets of London burn,
and yet, despite the fire,

the bobbies watch and turn
their visored faces away,
as if deaf, blind and dumb,
and England not lost its way.

Two thousand twelve has shown
that you are right again.
Forced to beg and undress,
still-lifed on a smart phone,

men bow and women bend
in multi-cultural fright.
Gone is the wilderness,
gone your voice in the night.