The Wind Farm:
Elegy for a Cornish Village
–
Millennia shaped the landface
Weathered by the ever of time,
Winds curved the moorland shoulder
Rain flow carved the farming nooks.
–
As sun arcs the southern sky
Alien shadows point our compass
And ever moving flickers fleck
Stream, hill and eyelight.
–
Turbines take space in their stride
Shaking down money from skies,
Wind serves as their workhorse
Harnessed to rein in profit.
–
The level moor, the eyes edge,
Is spiked and overtopped,
Beech trees cede pre-eminence
The tower of the church is dwarfed.
–
Migrants from the man-made
Those seekers of green heartland,
Who sought soft landing here,
Will see their visions cloud.
–
That than which none is greater
Rises on high over our altars
Big boys wave their strength of arms
Above their new dominion.
–
The landscape rhythms are broken
The nature of dance has changed
And when the giants go marching in
The face of our land has gone.
–
Roger Farnworth