Sonnet to a past
Here? fields we rambled played and picnicked on
adjacent there, the forcing rhubarb sheds,
those black tar-papered huts these, also gone,
ground under concrete and forever dead.
Here, can you imagine it? hedgerows grew,
flourished even, beside old dry-stone walls,
beaten pathways, on hard packed earth, these flew
between farmer's fields, where green crops grew tall.
Nothing remains but imaged memories
and these alas engraved in simple minds,
all those crops, trees and country greenery,
lost to the progress of we humankind.
Drive on this superhighway under which
lie farms, fields, picknick-spots and cricket pitch.
Written by Insiderew
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