Sunlight shafts through the sooty towers,

Nourishing the grateful green grass,

Noises float on the cool summer breeze,

Over the wildlife corridor it’ll pass,

Carrying away pollen and some pollution,

From the distribution hub on mass.

Concrete with white painted lines my spot,  

Staring at a horizon blocked by progress,

Fields of wild flowers between industries,

Underneath heavy clouds that supress,

Blackened by the towers’ smoky emissions,

Smothering life like a cheaply made dress.

Fences like barriers of iron stop trespassers,

Replacing hedgerows where birds nest,

Treated timber slowly rotting guard the sites,

Dead wood pierced through and laid to rest,

Planted between the islands of mother nature,

Containing the squares of managed forest.

A monolithic street light watches over it all,

Keeping the progress going on at night,

An artificial sun which never sets over head,

Confusing insects with its constant light,

Altering ancient finely balanced food chains,

Which could stop a species’ progress plight.

All these white lines on the concrete we cross,

Make a picture without the natural green,

Forcing plants and animals into manmade sets,

Idyllic oases of manufactured wild pristine,

Thin corridors of walled freedom for all fauna,

Takes the wild out of the wildlife I’ve seen.  

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