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Heaven's Gift.
A soft blanket of patchwork green
Sweeps upward across the vale.
And undulating hedgerows
Climb gently towards the skyline,
Where soft winds stroke, the drifting clouds
And guide them on their way.
The early morning sunshine,
Runs her fingers through the sky,
And paints the scene with shadows
As she passes by.
The ancient oaks, a group of three
Stand proud upon the hill.
And lower down, where willows grow
The bullrush edge the rill.
Such beauty comforts saddened hearts,
Sends gentle joy, for Souls embrace.
With sweetest call of skylarks song,
What better to replace?
An icy wind flows through the air
And makes me look again.
The patchwork fields, and willow trees,
The bullrush and the brook,
Have fallen to the hands of time--
The brook beneath the pavement's line
Never again to feel the rain.
The willow trees are now street lights.
And roof's recall, the hedgerow's climb.
Where proudly stood the oaks of three
Now one alone, in a car park grey.
And the sweetening sound of skylarks rise
No longer tunes the day.
No more is solace here to find,
Or comfort for the Soul.
Another piece of Heaven's gift
Is cruelly 'stole' away!
Your writing reminds me a lot
Your writing reminds me a lot of my own and that's awesome. The way you make the reader sad to see the landscape transformed is very inspiring. I wrote a poem with a similar theme to this one called trapped. Very nice write!
We'll just keep writing 'til there's nothing left to write.
We'll just keep waiting 'til they read all our works left to right.
Thank you for such a kind
Thank you for such a kind comment, I can't bear to keep losing so much of our beautiful countryside. I shall have a look at your poem :-) xx