The countryside is quiet now, no ramblers ramble on

A deathly hush hangs o’er the moor, the livestock all is gone.

Funeral pyres burn so bright, with discarded cows and sheep

Black clouds shed their silent tears, while farmers quietly weep.

A lifetime’s work, a shattered dream, goes up in acrid smoke

And many a desperate farmer’s wife, wishes she hadn’t awoke

To see the day so greatly feared, the day so grim and dark

When no more sheep bleat in the fields, and no more farm dogs bark.

For Foot & Mouth has slithered in, and raised a dripping hand

And spread with gloom its final knell, of death o’er all the land.                                  

© Carol Walker 2002