Will they listen?

A flower so delicate
so sweet is the smell
unfolds the new buds
from when the rain fell
it stands there alone
a pale silhouette
to reveal itself fully
only after sunset
for now you see
that the flower is dead
burnt and curled up
a useless deadhead
now do you see
where the black petals lie
in a parched desert
so harsh and dry
no rain was there
to bring it to life
it had no chance
full of toil and strife
this terrible desert
so harsh and dry
used to be England
left there to die