The Hills Are Alive......

Bramble bushwhacked,
White nettle whipped,
Trousers torn and tattered;
Berry hunters in Hetchell woods,
Wits and bodies scattered;

At the sound,
THE SOUND.....
Like a slithering Boa, scales unwound;

Dripped from leaves,
Uncoiled from boughs,
O Help..... O Horror,
There's no hope now;
We stuffed our ears
With moss as a plug,
But she just gave
An Arthritic shrug;

Then she sang,
SHE SANG.....
Like overstretched wires we twanged;

Beetles scuttled,
Slugs simply shrivelled,
Hedgehogs huddled,
Earthworms withered;

Wild flower meadows wilted in her whine,
Fresh water rivulets pickled to a brine,
Blackbirds lost their will to fly,
Small Eco-system trying not to cry;

Our Mum loves the great outdoors;
Shame it doesn't like her.

05
minor edit 07.04.09