The Wind Farm: Elegy …

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

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