Machines are moving over the land
they flatten and gouge
smooth and remove.
They will cultivate the wildness and soon
the billiard-baize greens
by circumference will measure
the acres we need for our organised leisure.
But oh! the wild beauty of it
the riotous disorder
of Nature's herbaceous border.
The hummocky hillocks and poppy-red splash,
now superceded by Corporate Cash.
With fences and fairways
all carefully planned,
Nature surrenders to efforts of man.
But there on the fringes
the wilderness beckons,
and big Ox-eye daisies
with petals unfurled
are winking an eye
at the civilised world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Annette, this is lovely! I can see the flowers there, ignoring the Pringle Jumpered swingers.