Three Palms:
The sale will go ahead just four doors down;
A doubtful fate for the cottage it seems,
I bet the final bidder goes to town -
Still maybe they’ve found the home of their dreams:
Plenty of character though not vintage
Including rich green garden, neat courtyard;
But here’s Sydney, full of legal pillage -
‘Improvement’ is likely without regard.
Trees through my window hail me at breakfasts
All back grounded by ever changing sky;
Palms elegant, stately, tall as mainmasts
Set fair my journey into the day’s eye.
Of course those three palms were felled one morning:
Dissolved - the view I’d known for fifteen years.
This lessened life’s texture at day’s dawning
And my loss joined the surfeit of world cares.
Now I have nothing left but remembrance
As the palms aren’t there for the winds to play;
In the end there’s no choice but acceptance.
Well at least they’ve allowed the sky to stay.
Later:
So major works as that garden is cleared
To place a two floor garage tall and bland.
Concrete surfaces everywhere appeared;
Because three tank like cars now ruled this land.
Cottage character was reinvented -
Here gleaming white rather than honeyed brick;
The building now massively extended,
Lord of the Manor gave Nature the flick.