At Dalgan

To leave behind the daily grind,
The stress of modern living,
Escape the strife of urban life,
So harsh and unforgiving.
To stroll along those hedge-lined lanes,
And purify one’s stilted veins,
For peace and true contentment reigns
At Dalgan.

Wild flowers give thanks upon the banks
Of Dalgan’s gurgling river,
The birds sing praise to summer days,
And fragile twiglets quiver.
The air is bathed in nature’s calm,
Enveloped in a soothing balm,
For nobody can come to harm
At Dalgan.

The leafy boughs where sparrows browse
Are parasols for walkers,
While high above with squawks of love,
The rooks are loud and raucous.
Butterflies inhale the light
And frolic madly with delight,
And all the world is put to right
At Dalgan.

But soon will come the tuneless hum
Of monster truck machinery
To cut a swathe, as with a lathe,
Through Dalgan’s priceless greenery.
The march of progress can’t be stilled,
And man’s incessant need to build
Must necessarily be fulfilled
At Dalgan.

The question raised is subtly phrased,
A riddle for the nation.
Should we bequeath fresh air to breathe
Or rapid transportation?
Better roads can’t be defied,
And progress must be satisfied,
But should our solace be denied
At Dalgan?

The retreat at Dalgan is threatened by plans to route the new M3 nearby