Was a hurricane here, or a war,
leaving gaping craters where trees once
lined the avenues? Walls are built to fall,
but these roots were 'ripped untimely'
from a womb of soil: Gone;
our Earth invaded, our friends snatched.
Now the Earth is the Moon,
the Moon is Venus hit,
Venus is Mars with all the fire of men.
I walk our woodland route, under
tarmac, and tread abandoned tracks.
Silent freight-lines lost to nature's bed,
gaping craters fresh-filled graves
covered by nature's year - and yet,
hydrangeas. Even now, hydrangeas flower
blue ultraviolet, pink infrared,
their litmus paper petals, first white,
then acid or alkaline,
falling with the earth's colours
to the warm charcoals of the soil.