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Red hot coal furnaces are stoked to raise high steam pressure, Massive iron wheels rotate in a crescendo of tortured, confused clamour, Rhythmic pistons punch violently as in a heavyweight brawl, Banished to history are the peaceful countryside summers of our yore. Broadened meadows patrolled by leviathan traction engines with their harvest thresher, Ferrous supplants centuries of ancient artifacts rendered from timber and leather, Ploughs, carts and harrows, traditional tools of the farm, left us their pre-historic traces, Now abandoned behind derelict barns and in damp ditches lie their rotting carcasses. For progress sake we enthusiastically jettison our well proven culture overboard, Decomposing out of sight, scantily raising a protesting luddite word, Centuries will pass leaving fading folklore with skeletal remains, Our heritage lost, impossible to regain! — Philip Wood |