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Memories

The Rape of Our Village

Rear of Front Street

No more to hear the bark of the fox when on his nightly prowl

Or to witness and feel the swish of the wings of the old barn owl

I'll miss the familiar hedgehogs as they scuffle through the fallen leaves

The martin's won't come back any more to nest in next door's eaves

To hear the cuckoo as he makes his plaintive cry

You'll be lucky if you spot him as he wings across the sky

As soon as I have a break, robins are down there in the soil

Searching through the earth I've turned with a little toil

Chaffinches and sparrows flying round in flocks

Disturbing dandelion seedheads we used to count as clocks

Blue tits and wrens making use of the holes in the old stone wall

Blackbird skirting the hedgerow issuing his warning call

These things to me are memories, can't think of a better name

Men mess around with nature, it can never be the same

To accuse the authorities of rape and of the pillage

'Cos without any doubt at all, they have spoiled our village.

J. L. Sorsby

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