~ Paul Munro ~ The Wrens Each day from eight to four Less half an hour for meals, Ugly yellow dinosaurs Tear apart our fields. No blade of grass is spared, Evicted rabbits flee. The hungry jaws plough ahead, Crunch, another tree! Soon we gaze on barren grounds, While yesterday a stream Midst gently sloping grassy mounds Unfurled to meadows green. Fairy wrens of vivid blue Were in those rushes born; Their tiny voices once rang through To herald each new morn. Now we hear no creatures call, No crystal brooks meander past; Tomorrow comes a shopping mall... Hosts of toxin spewing cars. Man and metal void of heart Portend our darkest day; Fields of green by stealth depart, And wrens no longer play. Copyright 1997 Paul Munro Fairy Wren Photo Paul's Poetry Anthology Nature Poets home