There’s very little wilderness left.
What passes for countryside
is carefully cultivated, manicured,
chemically treated and
managed for profit not for nature.
Wild is reduced to road verges,
beside the railway tracks,
and if the farmer allows,
a foot-wide headland round his fields.
Every city needs a lung of wilderness,
left fallow, except for trees and meadow flowers,
so we can breathe and know what’s real
but if such a Shangri-La exists
it’s buried beneath the fly-tipper’s leavings.
sorry for the sad poem today for Sally’s wild challenge