Pride Of England Poem by Paul Reed

No well-won trophy to display
No raucous celebration,
Emptiness has won the day
A hollow feeling in the nation;

For what would these men do and die for
When all riches already belong
What sort of defeat would these men cry for
With their worldly comforts strong?

There is nothing to lose but pride
Which is as free as the breeze on a hill
For this, far better men have cried
And swallowed the bitter pill;

What further reward could be sought
What new dragons could be slain
With pockets already bought
And sheltered from the rain;

For these young men are stars
With nothing left to be proved,
Cushioned from life's scars
With all the pride removed.