Coombe Hill of lofty fame and far-flung view,
How in departing summer now you glow
Beneath a patchwork sky of white and blue,
And lend to us your slopes to come and go,
Fly high our kites or find a picnic site
Or take your tracks toward the Monument
Erected to recall an old dissent
When war was used as arbiter of right.
You did not ask for us to use you so,
Nor yet decline to let us come and go.
You do not judge - where we now praise now scold -
Instead being ever ready to enfold.
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