Poem Hunter
CP ( / Shelfield.Staffs.England.)


The crows swing silently
On the telephone wires
Like a row of mourners
Blackly attired.

Yellow hatted men toil away
Their saws screeching,
Nothing to say!

A tree topples, then the rest,
A small copse gone.
The birds screech and fly away
A fox begins to run.

Smart office blocks -
And tarmaced roads.
Urbanised - now part of town.
The fox begins his nightly round.

No birdsong in this blighted place
No swaying trees, no flowers to grace.
Neon lights - commuter rage
The price we pay for progress sake!

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

I agree with Mary, there is so much of this thing going on now and it's really scary! The trouble is they build such awful buildings in the spaces, ugly and a offence to the eye. What's wrong with our heritage? Sincerely Ernestine Northover
I love the message here. I think it's a shame how much 'country' we lose to ugly buildings. Nice poem. sincerely, Mary