Can I be trusted? Will I heed the call?
What call can echo through this captive land,
that poets like me will rise to take a stand?
When justice and compassion stumble, fall,
what option have our pleading pens to gall
or check the sneers of those in cold command,
except perhaps to publish and be damned,
and slam our heads against a deafened wall?
But trust in this: it’s not the apathy
stunning our countrymen that gives us pause;
nor cowardice, nor fear of tyranny,
No! stiff top lips and doctrine are the cause –
our biggest problem can be rendered thus:
an Englishman tries not to make a fuss.