And will our feet in future time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And will the butterfly and bee
In hedge and meadow still be seen?
And will the woodlands in the spring
Be carpeted in bluebell blue?
And will the skylark sing?

I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand,
'Till we have saved our trees from blight
And firmly stand.

Freda Hendry