I am ugly, my head is wizened and blackened.
I droop in the wind headless.
Men avert their gaze as I hang slackened.
The chilly Autumn showers soak my once multi coloured headdress.

But not so long ago it was high summer in my story.
My head was golden, my face glorious.
With my brothers I gave these vast wold hills a yellow glory.
Sun dappled, my strong green storks straight , I was victorious.

Once long ago my forbear was by Van Gogh painted.
They pay millions now for my painting in oil.
Who would now waste a shilling on this shrivelled and matted head.
Soon they will cut me down ending this weary toil.

But in time in a different world, I will grace bread golden yellow and no longer be forlorn.
Such is life, in death we are reborn.