Once proud England stood low on the mountainside, the greatest war lost with no last post, greediest of worms weakening the foundation of the pure white suited host. 

Blue blood is the colour of the already dead corpse, defeated the dove, incomplete without wings, peacocks of the millennium hoodwinked, magpies claw away remains of roadkill, minority fleeing in their secrecy or congratulatory sings.  

Era ended away to crumbling farcical amusement, reducing, at a level of absurdity, crime in the hood, needles of a drug addict, not exactly a peasant revolt moreover a joining at a level of accomplished nothingness with beauty serene or hardly seen.