This bleak barren wasteland with ruinous rubble <br />Where buildings and shelters are slowly reclaimed, <br />By ragwort that clings to the crack and the crevice <br />On concrete carpets abandoned and framed, <br />By old rusting fences and gates that are padlocked <br />A perilous prison of damp and decay, <br />But soon it shall yield to the forces of nature <br />As slowly these remnants now crumble away. <br /> <br />As flowers do spread and then cross over borders <br />And sprinkle with gold with such freedom of will, <br />Where once was alive with the sound of the foundry <br />The steel and the furnace but now it lies still, <br />For there undisturbed all the weeds shall develop <br />And mask the harsh lines as the seeds are then cast, <br />On winds that will blow through this old blackened brickwork <br />And there they shall thrive with industrial past. <br /> <br />The years will go by but the ragwort shall linger <br />And grow ever-denser with bush and with tree, <br />When walls will all tumble then drowned by the thickets <br />No more shall remain of this shell I now see, <br />So shine on sweet flowers and cover this wreckage <br />Let this be a place then in which we can share, <br />For I long to witness the land in its glory <br />And hear the hushed songbirds again singing there.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ragwort/
