Springs symphony stirs
but nothing compared to that which spurred
the machines to toil away
Clank, clank
never the hammer of a woodpecker
but the clang and bang of the extractors
the green has all but gone
no weeds to straggle the edges
no brambles for Jenny Wren to nest in
the fox lost its hunting ground
and the owl’s hoot grows ever-distant
perhaps they liken us to a storm that passes through
when they glance us in their beady eyes
but soon, they’ll learn the truth
we were asteroids
plummeting the earth to ruin