‘Twas all fields in my day…
Approaching Alphington appeared to me
Vague, hazy recollections; five years old,
A playmate’s party at some local farm
A warm summer evening suffused with the gold
Of childlike innocence; a game (I think)
Of cowboys and indians; the rest is lost
Beyond my memory, does not matter much.
But these things came to mind whenever I crossed
The bridge across the busy bypass, saw
The cows graze indolently on the thick,
Rich pasture – even as indifferently the cars
Sped by in ever greater number – and this
Appeared to me, naively, such a calm
Unchanging scene. But I was wrong. For now
Herd, home and history all are swept away
As in their place heavy plant breaks up, ploughs
The fertile earth in preparation for
A different kind of growth. And this, I suppose
Is progress; the ever hungry city needs
Its newbuilds in such regimented rows
And builds these sterile streets to satisfy
Demand. But what about the precious land
That lies beneath? When fields no longer yield
The food we need or feed the inner man?
