I recently found this long lost English poem in the Australian trade union supported newspaper the Worker

Worker Thursday 19 October 1916 p. 3.


KENCH HILL

You can hear the guns all day
Rumbling eighty miles away;
You can hear them all night long
Booming out the devil's song,
Taking God's own right to kill—
From the top of high Kench Hill.

The hay smells sweet on high Kench Hill
When we go out a-raking;
And, round about, the Roman Marsh
In summer heat lies baking.

There's miles of sky on high Kench Hill
With colored clouds a-spreading
Like gold fish in a great blue bowl,
When we the hay are tedding.

And you may see on high Kench Hill,
Clear over hedge and railing,
A little slip of silver sea
With ships upon it sailing.

Merry's the time on high Kench Hill
When we the hay are carting ;
Fun runs free like the ale and tea,
And lovers go sweethearting.

'Tis peaceful time on high Kench Hill—
Below the lambs are bleating ;
The last load home is lost in mist,
Night sheds her quiet greeting.

You can hear the guns all day
Rumbling eighty miles away.
You can hear them all night long
Booming out the devil's song.
Taking God's own right to kill—
From the top of high Kench Hill.

H.W., in London "Herald."

The "Daily Herald" published in London was also trade union supported which encouraged the Worker to trade stories and occasionally poems