Thursday, 2 November 2017

The Mumbles yew is dead


Alas, the yew has been cut.
M&S must be built - no ifs or but!
So make way for concrete and cement.
The Mumbles yew? Its life is spent.

I did lament that this would be so.
I did protest that it should not go.
But although a Mumbles voice is oft down-trodden,
this soft red-berried yew will ne’er be forgotten.

And when, one day soon, you are in there shopping,
remember, beneath your feet its roots are rotting.
I am sure I saw British Legion blood,
raw and running from its trunk in flood,
yet no quarter for the past was given,
for with shopping now is our village riven.

Was there no architect on earth,
who could have saved this spreading girth?
Why did M&S not aspire to be green,
to be the greenest store you have ever seen?
And provided shopping under the old yew’s boughs,
its branches trimmed along with ours.

Oh yew, and you, know what it could have been,
if we had saved this part of the Mumbles scene.
But no, too late! It’s gone, that part of us.
But, other than me, did anyone kick up a fuss?
No! NO!

So, do you see me as a relic?
Well, slowly do we all become derelict.
Ah! You noticed that does not rhyme?
What a pity that’s all you notice of our time.
Who said “our roots are our branches”?
Not M&S, I would advance.
For our yew was given no second chance.

So, another tree excised from the lungs of life.
Into the heart of the village they have stuck a knife.
Who will dare lay the foundation stone?
And for the yew’s demise over the years atone.
Who will dare cut the celebration bands?
And have the yew’s blood upon their hands.

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