An invasion across hills and grassy fields,
Futuristic giants stand and loom,
Colonizing England’s green and pleasant land,
Threatening an approaching doom.
Reaching towards the sky a hundred feet tall,
Metallic and powerful arms out stretched,
Surveying their recently acquired natural vista,
That generations of artists roughly sketched.
An historic yet constantly changing landscape,
Countless seasons in the making,
Agricultural age lines across its weathered skin,
Growing golden wheat for baking.
The wind of change is gusting through trees,
Accelerating natural evolution,
Some plants and animals have fallen behind,
This very unnatural revolution.
This new army of steely eyed sentinels,
Punctuating the fragile earth,
Creating energy out of fresh sweet thin air,
Knowing this resource’s worth.
Fresh air has gone out from fashion,
Pollution masks have come back in,
Carbon dioxide and methane surround,
From cars and rubbish we throw in the bin.
The impending doom surrounds us,
Invading everywhere we go,
The streets are paved with dirty stones,
The giants are shouting no!
We see the giant imposing wind turbines,
As eyesores on the skyline,
But they should be seen as hopeful beacons,
As well as a stark warning sign.