In those forgotten lands

In those forgotten lands

Where the weeds lie abandoned

And the hedgerows

Have grown too wide

Even for the ditch,

Hazel and hawthorn

Invade the meadows

Where Aberdeen Angus roamed

And ploughs were

Kept sharp and bright.

Working farms are dead,

Their bones have turned to rust.

Houses lie in ruin

Thatches long gone,

The rats have found new digs.

Tin roofs dip and sag

Barns lean awkwardly

Beneath a wild canopy

Of climbing ivy

And luscious Passionflower.

The empty valleys echo

Silently

With the laughter of ghosts,

The birds all flown

There is no one left to see

The stark beauty that still lingers.

The slow death of life

Has left a lasting mark

In battle scars,

The scouring of the quarry

The pillage of the land.

The rattle of old machinery

Stealing its soul

Is but a memory

In the minds of old men

Who still wait

Congregate

In front of a fire

In the last pub to die

At the end of the lane.

A crossroads that now

Leads nowhere in particular

Unless you want it to.

A few passers-by

Dally

On their way to the market town

Across the valley

With the working watermill

Tourist centre

And patisserie.

Enough to keep the old town afloat

Until the bypass

Is finally completed

And then that quaint confection

Will be left to mothball

As the constant progress

Of cobwebs and dust

Finally, lays claim to us all.