Sunday, 8 May 2011

Hornchurch Country Park (Ingrebourne Valley)

                                                         Hornchurch Country Park

                                                          As I walk the Pathway
                                                          along the green meadows
                                                          past marshes and fences
                                                          and small wooded copses
                                                          I see airbourne friends
                                                          fly swiftly above them.
                                                          Not the young airbourne friends
                                                          who once flew in formation
                                                          but the ones who now live here
                                                          in peace and contentment.
                                                          And placed here and there
                                                          are large concrete gunposts
                                                          like giant grey mushrooms
                                                          pushing up from the ground.

                                                          As I walk the pathway
                                                          along the old airfield
                                                          I hear wildfowl above me
                                                          taking the flightpath. Then
                                                          suddenly a hawk swoops
                                                          out of the sun.
                                                          Meanwhile, two legged friends
                                                          lead their four legged friends
                                                          onto the green meadows
                                                          to bound about madly.
                                                          Then the plastic bag handed owners
                                                          proudly pick up the turds
                                                          like I pick the berries
                                                          to fill up my pies.
                                                          And If no one is looking
                                                          they'll toss them away
                                                          to hang in the trees
                                                          with the sweet smelling May.

                                                        copyright (c) 2007 Dave McGough.

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