Landfill

Where once the green and rolling hills Lay in the midst of England's heart, The scars she wears unsightly as They spread across the land, They ripped and tore the beauty of The scenes that once belonged to all, And took away serenity That once inspired the hand. For now the brown and littered mounds Which dominate the views of old, And pungent stench of filth and waste Is carried on trhe breeze, Where scavengers now make their home To seek the comfort of its mire, And hungry gulls do swarm the skies So distant from the seas. And God must weep when he does see His great creation in this state, A time bomb of destruction in His garden once divine, The flowers have all wilted now And trodden flat within the mud, Where spring shall never bloom again Or vivid colours shine.