Blood & Soil - The Grey Replacement

Let me tell you a tale of a forest so green
Where mighty oak trees once stood,
Just imagine years past what they must have seen
Deep rooted midst the soil and the blood.

Red squirrels did scamper over leaves of gold
The West men sung songs of glee,
Little birds looked for mates that would dare to be bold
In a time filled with joyous harmony.

The wise owl, blessed with clear sight in the night
Just like the ravens ever watching from above,
Best hide quick little critters or they’ll give you a fright!
These noble guardians of the woods thereof.

What an age this was for our enchanted land,
Now, years gone by, things aren’t the same;
The wise man sharpens his sword in hand
Whilst the fool just points fingers in blame.

Nestled amongst leaves, an innocent family
Minding their own business just as they should,
Not a care in the world, content as can be
Rightful inhabitants of this glorious wood.

Red squirrel pups run fast branch to branch
Father’s out finding moss bedding and food,
Mother making sure the nest is kept clean
They take care of their boisterous brood.

Papa red took for granted that nothing would change
His life forever remaining secure,
His children would be safe playing merrily in the
trees And dear mother would want for nothing more.

As the squirrel cubs played in the trees as they swayed
Lazily in the wind to and fro,
Grandpa squirrel sat looking into the forest and remarked
Once these woods were full of reds, you know…

Not like today… He looked around in
dismay Saddened by what lay before,
From his eyes he wiped away a single sad tear
For red squirrels in these woods were no more.

Our forest was once a safe place to be
With enough food and space for every one,
Never did we worry for our pups going free
Now we watch closely lest they be gone.

For you see invaders will take our dear pups
Fiendish minds delight in hurting our kin,
With no help in sight we must stand up and fight
And protect our loved ones from their sin.

Greys come and go and spread their sorrow
Far and wide in our precious old wood,
We pray and hope for a brighter morrow
Come together and rise up we reds should.

What was clear to old red was a future quite grim
Families and friends they would replace,
These grey ones that came from a far-flung land
With dis-ease that laid waste the red face.

For the greys have no right to take as they do
No care for our trees, blood or soil;
No attachment to our nation, they have no real clue
How our ancestors all bled for their toil.

Full of sickness the grey spreads terror in our land
It can be seen in their eyes if you look,
Never shy to place an unwelcome demand
If you’re not careful you’ll miss what they took.

Not all! Not all! Yes, this much is true
But enough to make it well worth our time;
A bad apple spoils the bunch often too
No doubt these grey have well crossed the line.

All we want is to live in a woodland of peace
Amongst our fellow reds, just like before;
Is it too much to ask to be around our own kind?
Not to live in fear of pestilence and war?

If the red squirrel were to be killed off by the grey
Never to be seen again dancing in trees,
The forest could never recover its way
Terribly lost to the sick grey’s disease…

Lessons to be learned from forests now burned
Our poor red squirrels became too complacent,
Let us not suffer the same fate as the red ones did
e must beware of the grey replacement.

This is a battle we must win and we cannot delay
A future for our red pups is worth fighting for,
Maintaining a majority of our kind, here to stay
o secure the existence of red squirrels forevermore.

Yet have no fear, my dear, as hope there must be
And always there is in the end,
As this tale is not finished, nor all hope diminished
As our fate rests with us, my friend.

For you see all it takes is one little seed
Just like an acorn becomes mighty oak,
Fire spreads wildly in the minds of men
Greys shall choke on the raging white smoke.

Patriotic Arts, [14.03.21 19:33]
Just like the heroes of old, of whom legends are told
Great sacrifices made not in vain,
Sing songs and be merry! Brave men of the West…
For the red squirrel will rise again!

~ By William Foster