by | Sep 6, 2017 | Poetry | 0 comments


In regimented lines they stand

On swathes of once-green farmers land

From north to south and west to east

Resembling herds of sheep or beast

And where the ground is steep to rise

Patio doors point to the skies

The wooden stiles you loved to climb

Are memories of another time

In their stead are wooden stairs

To decking, filled with camping chairs

Where once stood trees of oak and ash

Stand perfect rows of Calor gas

Green meadows that held little lambs

Are full of cars and traffic jams

Gone are those lambs, their gentle bleat,

Replaced by sounds of trampling feet

As families scramble hand in hand

To reach the sea and golden sand

And though I’m party to this scene

I wish it could return to green

© Don Holmes


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