The Priory – how once she did preside at state.
What majesty passed through her gate.
Now what can she do but stand and stare?
She finds a void of thought and care
For histories tread and creatures rare.

The Bury – where once we did disport ourselves,
Music, dancing, Morris Men.
For all the fun that we had then
How sadly do we mourn.
Now the barricades confront
Wire and grills, gates and fences.
Is it from the people she needs these defences?

The Tower – where once we could spot owl and bat.
Who will take good care of that?
When all we can see is polythene tat.
And wasn’t there a grant for that?

The wild deer chose to make their home here.
Now their ancient ways are barred and blocked.
In a trap they are safely locked.
Who can tell what fate awaits them.
Are they just for decoration?

Where once ‘mid bluebells the bowmen honed their skills.
Now scoured, grubbed out and bare stand those soft and gentle hills.
Where once lay calm and tranquil pools.
There’s just mud and large mechanical tools.
Where once were trees and woods and secret places
What now awaits these forlorn and empty spaces?

Tons of trucks on tiny tracks
Fill the hollows with this and that.
For holiday makers won’t mind that.
Lots of huts and lots more tat.

No need for green and grassy bowers
Let’s build up the cardboard towers.
Ticky tacky houses
Lots and lots
Streets and streets
With stick on chimney pots.
Let’s defile the whole bloody lot!
Let’s make a giant parking lot!

What of the geese that come to graze?
What will meet their yearly gaze?
Where are the herons, row on row?
Where are the harriers, rook and crow?
Where are the flowers that tickle your toes?
Where can the badger take his doze?
Where there are houses
What grows?

How to complete the bigger picture?
There’s no need for any stricture.
Let’s open up the parts with holy orders
So wedding revellers can puke in corners.
Where will the spirit of Osyth be found?
Shall there be no sacred ground?

Anon
Written in support of the SOS campaign.