Fall Of The Heartlands

I went to a place where time could stop, To the decimated Citadel high above the loch, A Kestrel pursues the Ospreys, Probably blown off course, Here, life is all about death, Where primal instincts are threatened by Urban sprawl, There used to be Badgers here, Now just smoking holes and laughing poachers. With black and white fur, Embedded in silt and wet magenta, Where broken claws tried to scrape on to life, Now immortal as a deluxe fur sporran. And to the east I stare, To the cerise loch with its stench of failed migration, Where salmon were summoned to die as sardines, Men in biological suits test the water, As a J.C.B. digs new foundations, Destroying mass graves of unknown clans, Who died to preserve such vibrant lands, And here is the irony, These highlands are being destroyed, By pin striped Anglo anthropoids, Hell bent on improving water, Intent on killing everything. A beaver hurriedly fixes his dam, Competing against articulated diggers, Otters lick gaping wounds from toxic compounds, Pathetically still loyal to the poisoned streams, And here I am watching 2000 years of history, 2000 years of dreams, Being demolished so cities can expand, Like a pneumatic sword right through fluvial ventricles Of a dying heartland.