Paradise not Lost, but Gravely DiminishedIt's a warm fall day, and I'm grievously
Shirking. I'm watching the breeze blow
The leaves in the trees, most of which
Remain green. Still a lovely place,
This yard's less tranquil than it used to be.
The tree farm just across the road has turned
Into suburban sprawl. The deer and turkeys,
Foxes, coyotes, all are gone. The quiet road
They used to cross now pulsates from relentless
Traffic. Next door, where there was a barn
And horse at first, and then some fruit trees
On a lawn, a grotesque house is going up.
The trees were cut. The air is rent by
Thumping Spanish-language music,
Nail guns, loudly growling trucks.
I tell you, somehow, I'm still more or less
At ease behind my hedges, though I must
Admit that, as I shirk, I mourn how
Things have changed.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 53 times
Written on 2021-10-08 at 22:19
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