Pollution and Metal Birds

These fields aren't as large as they once were, aren't as green as pastures new, aren't as tranquil with these giants leaning over shadowing the sun,
The dirts moisture now brittle and dry. I remember the days when me, my brother and my old dog Sammy would wander this land collecting frogs in
The pockets of my old denims hand me downs from my brother
We were filthy children muck clad to our eyeballs to our toes
Yet we were pleasantly happy in this tranquil setting
My brother was much older than me
Much taller too
He believed to be wiser
But we all knew I was the brains
We would run together through the poppy fields
Every day was a new race
A new competition
But we both would run slowly
Never at our full pace
Instead enjoying each others company
That smells of blossom hitting the fabric of our clothes
The uptake of sparrows feeding on the seeds
Shooting up into the midday air
Fearing us the giants with muddy faces and frogs in our denims
Now I look back my hands still dirty

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poem by Jacob Andrew Jarman
Added by Poetry Lover
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