The Mark I Leave Behind

Euro-Smog covers the UK??

It is nothing to do with me.

What is this mark,

This blot

That hangs

Upon the sky,

Blocking out

The landscape,

Passing as a cloud.

It accompanies me,

A pall about my head,

Filled with rain

And acid too,

That critics say

Will encumber me,

And fill my chest

With the waste

Of old Europe.

Is it a stain

That I once made

All too easily blown,

From me to you?

That is never true.

On such occasions

I profess my conscience

To be clear

Of any blame.

My peace is made

With all my wrongs

Made right.

Disregard for legacy

And the mark

I leave behind

Has been recast,

And now my

Freshly painted

New pin smell

Is squeaky clean.

My footprint green

And the sooty

Deposit, that now befouls

My hybrid

Not of my confection,

But a very different

Projection,

And I cock a snook

In your direction,

As my back yard

Is freshly cleared,

My garbage all removed,

It may be

Fly tipped,

And hidden

In some other,

Less conspicuous

Position,

But believe me

World,

It is not my fault

I am clean,

And ready for inspection.