PLUNDER
Where common fellows rarely meet
the ancient hedge and clump of trees,
but little modified by time,
mark out the spot
where footpaths cross like passing streams.
And here they gently weave and flow,
so often lost to human eye,
as brambles and the swaying sward
like anglers rods reach out
and touch with glaze of morning rime.
A vestige this of heritage
untinctured by the acts of man,
in danger now from urban sprawl
by progress needs perceived in haste
as man invades his legacy.