A reporter stands knee deep
in swirling prairie
while wind bullies the mic.
Pushing hair from her face,
she tells viewers about plans
to develop this vastness.
The camera scans empty spaces
as a meadowlark sings the melody
of the tall grass that sustains it.
An artist’s rendering shows
a giant clock on four pillars.
It towers above the development
with its web of roads, looms over
a poverty of grass and birdsong.
Time on concrete stilts—
illusion on a pedestal.
Even before the clock is built
it ticks away the hours
until bulldozers are unleashed,
saws sever the quiet.
Paving Meadowlarks-loved this poem!
Love this! Esp the concrete stilts.
Nicely done!
A stark poem of nature’s loss to the foreboding development of industrial growth. Its loss a forever ache in the heart of all who prize the wild.
Thanks Lew for writing this deeply felt loss of nature’s beauty.