In Print 08

At week-ends when 'tis fine and warm,
No pastures green for me,
But smoky sheds and stations black,
All trains for me to see.

On engines large and engines small,
Men work away in gloom,
For well they know, the diesel train
Will bring the steam train's doom.

And so for me, I too feel sad
To think they'll be no steam
But diesels have their own appeal;
Of transport they're the cream.

Before you shift that mound of yellow clay,
And banish all thought of her early years;
Just remember her state from day to day
Has not charged in any way for endless years.
Until you arrived here these last few hours,
With your bulldozers, lorries, and tractors -
She has not been touched by the hand or power
Of any human, Nothing has hurt her.
But despite all these things, why should you care?
It has to be done, it is the job of work
You have to do. The store's to be built there
Before October's end. Before the mark
Of winter comes upon us. But you men,
Before you demolish Nature, think again.