|
| |
Urban Sprawl
Ancient Jurassic stone
casts out the grime
long gone the fog
of industrial crime.
Main thoroughfare
now left in peace
no local blues to sing
in the old coachman’s Fleece*.
When moonlight bathes
within the silver stream
and moor lane glistens
invoking its crystal beam.
The low moor awakes
shadows cast aside
the morning new
lays waste the genocide.
Yet productive time lords
stake out progression
cloudless valley
unfolds the beast.
Quaint radiant faces
cry out for comfort
summer solace
bequest the east.
The strangers come
in flight from fear
a different way
their actions to sway.
Dialect gives away
its tradition
rustic voice
forever gone astray.
Salacious stiletto
the thorn of the city
each atrocity fuels
the seeds of pity.
Country roses
nurtured in rural delight
wafting delirious
amidst the argillite.
*pub, ale house.
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Copyright ©
Harry Horsman
|
|