Who fashioned this land of fields,
fen-man
Clawed from beneath the sea’s tongue?
Who drained these lost levels, fen-man
With lock and sail and engine?
Who sweated knee-deep in the fen mud,
Exhausted by the clod weight
And the singing of the wind’s voice?
Why, you did!
But who filled your brain with peat?
Who cast the speech from your blue tongue?
And who, after stealing your five senses
Left you, wedged and breathless
Under your own sky?
Why, the land did, the land did!
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