We wander down the paths, <br />we used so long ago, when we were young, <br />before the world we now know. <br />Down the country lanes, shaded and narrow, <br />by fields of wheat and marrow. <br />By sunlight, by moonlight, we lazed on our way. <br />Passed the green lands we did not stray. <br />Years have descended on us and our pleasures there, <br />it made a waste land of our garden fair. <br />Air is more darker. <br />Factories belch smoke here and there. <br />No more the soft white clouds, or birds on the wing. <br />Just black pools of floating fish, <br />while greasy faces smirk. <br />The green of fields are replaced, <br />for the green greed of crispy notes. <br />No longer postcard pictures, <br />but sewers up turned towards the sky. <br />The faces are not happy, their scorn is waste and wild. <br />Another of natures landmarks, scared black every row. <br />For the sake of progress, <br />or at least they tell us so. <br /> <br />2 June 1981<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-the-sake-of-progress/
