Below is the poem entitled The Whirling Army which was written by poet
Timperley. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Beautiful scenery, rolling hills with craggy cliffs adorned with winter scrub clinging to impossible places. Narrow winding roads, leading somewhere, maybe nowhere, finding out when we get there. Rounding a bend just enjoying the scene, finding an eyesore almost obscene. In the ground in front, towering high a plague of of wind turbines I did espy.Not the Quixotic or Dutch that are nice. These huge monstrosities seem to crowd the very sky, killing birds by the score with their whirling wings. The race is on to harness the wind for soon the earth will cease to give up its treasure just so we can enjoy our leisure. Here rivers do not flow for most of the year and our island needs power but not nuclear. So the turbines have come to march over the mountains like a white army of whirling dervishers that sadly will be the future, unless they can harness the suns free power much better.Time and nature will tell, if only we let her.