Knowing houses have to be built somewhere it is with tongue in cheek that I worked this needlepoint picture after a visit home some years ago.
Greenfield's Plight
The wealth of green
....................has disappeared.
Now tarred and bricked,
................ the earth is choked
I stare in awesome
..................................disbelief.
Stood here is car
...................... instead of oak.
The sleepy village
.................. wakes to shrieks.
With noise disturbing
........................... all in Church.
Hoots from horns
............ distressing preacher.
I now find Snacks
......... where once was birch.
Shops and trolleys
.......... line the stream's bank.
We played out here
...................... from early light.
For those old days
............... I feel most thankful.
Now death-knells chime
........... for greenfield's plight.
greenfields are being taken over by businesses a pity well expressed
This is a well expressed poem, Fay, of one who feels the frustration many of us encounter when, after perhaps a long absence, we return to our home town only to find it has changed drastically from our memories. Some wag uttered a truism once: "the only thing constant is change." Gone are the quaint towns or villages we once intimately knew, now studded with bright shopping malls, many new homes, slick and fancy food markets and apothecary stores, and peopled with strangers. Your words in this fine poem captured that feeling well. Carl.
This I hate to see Fay. There seems to be no stopping them, they will bulldoze anything down to build something horrendous that makes money. You have described this really well great read. As you say thanks for the memories.