Robin the Poet: Chartism and Selsley Hill

They struck up their antics,
like lighting the tabacco or putting bow to fiddle,
walked to slogan, rant and chant,
they will not recant for the priviledged rich,
who want to keep them underfoot,
their feet are beating out a tattoo,
the exploited working poor,
want to turn the tables,
for they are gathering today,
from the valleys far and near,
up on their common land,
and the rich are fearful,
the poor want to make history recognise them,
to force society to stop pretending they don't exist.

They stand on the common earth and under sky as equals,
the river Severn in the middle,
like them,
caught between past and this future,
that rages in blood,sweat and tears,
of every poor man and woman,
trying to get by on even less every year,
they strip us like sheep,
but we are turning the tables today,
our voice is here to stay,
even if the Houses of Parliament,
must endure to listen to our Rights,
a vote for us all,
we have chewed the hard crust long enough,
now we spit it back in your faces,
look at us, see us, know thy peasant,
for you rich man depend on him from birth to grave.

Remember not the 5th of November,
remember today when we stepped into your Parliament
and grovelled no more.
When the poor won their voice like gunpowder,
blasting open the walls,
where we stand like Stroud Scarlet and Uley Blue flaming on
tenterhooks true on these valley hills.