Wetlands Poetry

Ode to Borrowdale Vlei/ Wetland 



What have we done?
The wild places, they are all but gone.
Vast spaces teaming with life,
are now covered in tarmac and ridden with strife.
We cut off our life blood in the name of progress,
and all we have left is an urban circus.
Our rivers, our wetlands, our grasses, our trees,
now malls and car parks, polluted with disease.
Mother Nature's beauty has been raped and subject to pillage,
with man's mines and dump heaps and burgeoning village.

Wintry Poetry

Winter of My Soul

Trees stripped to bare branches
with leaves that swirl at their roots.
Stark blue skies, with a nip in the air,
chills me as I step outside in my boots.
Inside it is winter but I stoke my inner fire.
Although a season of death, it won't quell my desire.
A hope for life, a need for a reason to be.
Where has my hope gone? It remains to be seen.