This green and pleasant land of ours.
Is disappearing can't you see.
Replaced by roads and houses.
Soon that's all that there will be.
No fields of summer beauty
Or forests full of trees.
No scented flowers growing.
By gently trickling streams.
No birdsong in the morning
Or buzzing honey bees.
All of nature's beauty.
Will most definitely cease to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem