For a short way up it, half obliterated with age,
Discoloured and torn,
Fastened on by tintacks,
There is a paper affiche
Relating to swine fever.
The sun sinks lower and I pass on,
On to the fifteenth pole from Shere to Havering,
And the twentieth
From Havering to Shere;
It is even more naked and desolate than the last.