Mother
The buzzards are circling your heart
Diggers rip your stomach
Turn your soil
They cut your trees because they could
Ancient oak and ash hacked away
Their remains a stubby finger stuck up to the people
But still you host the magpies as they tell their joy
Sparrows grub, hedgehogs hide and robins keep abreast
Bats track the night sky
Dogs and owners brush your long grass
But how long will that last?
(c) Rebecca Deans 2016
beckydeans 
Sometimes the passion to write comes from anger, I guess. Good to see you writing again
Hi Graham
I have been writing but not blogging it lately. I’ve even done a performance type poem in the real world! I’ve also been accepted into the Derbyshire Residencies Scheme, so I am going to become a writer in the community. Thank you for your support and reading my blog!
That all sounds like terrific news. Glad to hear it’s going well