Post No. 790
As I gaze at the small green triangle, that was once a wide
Grassy hillside, I see the haze, the mist, closing in slowly,
Creeping downward and blanketing all in its path.
Where once there were meadows, streams and
Strong green trees, now human ants have eaten
Them all away, leaving only a concrete jungle,
Expanding by the day. Progress? Or regress?
I would rather the flower-filled view,
Changing with the seasons,
Than the neat, cemented, sanitized structures,
Impersonal clones that we call homes.
©Denise G Allen, 10 April 2015 09:36