I love my quiet little lane
And my house at its dead end
There is a real village feel to it
And that rustic feel is my friend
This solitude amidst multitude
Cannot be believed until it is seen
My windows open to sky and birds
I am surrounded by shades of green
But soon all this may just disappear
To house tall towers strong and new
When democratic majority marches
It simply bulldozes thoughts of a few
I may move back here again I know
(They say to a bigger and better flat)
Will this quiet and the greens remain?
No one is saying anything about that!
When I shall look out of my windows
What view would be there to greet?
Birds which nest in the myriad trees
Or a new jungle made of concrete?