These Marks

Zoë Vincent

 

We don’t know where they’re from, these marks

That are slashed in red on trees

They say they mark the ones to fall


Bring the forest to its knees.



A can of bright fluorescent paint

In the hands of those who love

The rough of concrete, not the green

And leafy boughs above.


I love this valley, like all those

Who live and prosper here<

No one wants this ugly patch<

That you want to appear.<



Harsh strips of grey cannot replace<

Our haunts of many years<

We all shout out, we all say

No

Please don't confirm our fears.

 

 

For what shall we do once all has gone

And steel replaces stone?

In this new age where modernity rules

We all need a place to go.

 

So what we all are trying to say

Is please just spare a thought

It's us who'll look outside each day

And see this mess you've brought.