With thanks to Mr Wordsworth:
I wandered lonely as a bee
That dips through meadows lush and still,
When all at once – what’s this I see?
– A host of gleaming fracking drills!
The lake’s been pumped, the locals flushed.
Trees shake and tremble in the dust.
Relentless as the desert heat
That sears all life from sand-swept plains,
The juggernauts grind through in fleets
Along the narrow country lanes.
Ten thousand feet the drills bore down
Bee-lining their way beneath the town.
The homes above them quake but that’s
A minor care when streams run dry,
When methane’s leaking from the taps
And toxic clouds swirl in the sky.
I gasped and gasped, to no avail –
Clean air’s worth less than gas from shale.
And oft I dream we all object
To short term focus by the fools
Who care not if the earth is wrecked
By big-buck raids for fossil fuels.
Rays warm, winds rage, waves rush and still
They dance in with their fracking drill.
c. The Bridport Ranter.