I marvel at green field and tree,
But soon I spy light industry.
I gaze along the far skylines
At swinging arms of white turbines;
At rolling hills and charming dales
Spoilt by major roads and rails;
At masts and pylons standing tall
By meadow, moor and grey stone wall.
I see hens and how they’re fed.
They cluck and peck inside a shed.
Once in the yard and strutting free
They’re now confined by lock and key.
My ears hear farm machinery
That drowns out silent scenery.
And rumbling tractors down the lane
More noisy than an aeroplane.
My country stroll is nearly done.
It really hasn’t been much fun.
The hand of man is everywhere.
For wild and wondrous, look elsewhere.