Sad, Dreary And Sombre Views
The dust that descends over roadside hedges,
On walls, fences and along the edges,
Comes from the ever moving needs,
Of vehicles, racing at tremendous speeds.
Unknown destinations, their one concern,
Doesn't matter that they continually churn
And splatter mud, simply everywhere,
Once they've gone past, they never care.
The dirt on the wayside then settles and dries,
Even on some startled and irate magpies,
Making really sad, dreary and sombre views,
In dull, dismal colours, not nature's hues.
And only by a heavy abundance of rain,
Will it be cleansed, and turn green again.