Copyright © Isabella Dalzell 2020. All RIghts Reserved.

Whispering like druids grouped on a hill

white-hooded turbines turning at will

their incantations borne on the breeze

spinning in circles. Meadows are greened

by moisture-filled skies, the lambs are a blur

spring-sacrificed still, like days gone before

when henges and tombs with their chambers were built

to assuage and make peace for humanity’s guilt

rituals held within magical stones

planets and stars aligned, cradles for bones



Upon rocky heathland the wild rabbits stare

solar panels are flashing their sun-shimmered glare

sacred circles have fallen, shed petals they lie

deserted of dancers who worship the sky

soft-perfumed mists have dissolved over time

and snow-scattered clover replaced by the grime

of petrol-tinged ether and dust quarried earth

where new-builds are smothering once sappy turf

the topsoil lies heaped, razed by the builders

and scraped by the ‘dozer sharp as a razor



Speeding across the monotonous fields

luminous yellow crops, boosted for yields

poisonous pesticides killing the earth

embankments shield life under brambly green girth

nettles hide foxholes cosy with cubs

black and white badgers quake in the shrubs

nests crammed with eggs are tangled with litter

the harvest we’re reaping is growing too bitter

a world filled with concrete is now lying sterile

the lives of earth’s creatures once teeming, in peril



breaking the bonds that nature has wrought

habitats lost with relentless onslaught

cities are sprouting paving their spaces

monoliths substitute for grassy acres

roads cut through trees, parkland of yesteryear

choking with smoke and petrol-fumed air

the world is a web, sublimely entwined

plants, birds, fish, mammals are all in decline

we are silencing the songs that nature sings

like boys destroying butterflies, pulling off wings