To be honest, I’m amazed I’ve got this far in my endeavour to create a poem (I use the word loosely) for each of the 40 days of Lent. I discovered that the word ‘lent’ was used in the Middle Ages and means ‘spring’, coming from the Germanic word Lenz for ‘long’, because in Spring the days get longer. Interesting; but enough of this distraction, I should post another poem.
My walk along the road beside the farmer’s field is spoiled by an ever-growing slew of rubbish in the hedgerow where it runs past the bus stop. So, a bit of an angry poem today.
Why is there so much litter?
I don’t want to seem bitter and twisted.
As twisted as the cans and wrappers
that despoil the hedge and grassy verges.
I don’t really advocate purges of perpetrators.
Parental education as a child is the key.
Me? I was always told to ‘Pick it up!’
as I have told the same to my two.
But here by the shelter
a welter of beer cans and bottles.
Bags and burger boxes,
which the foxes will tear apart.
Is this the start of the end?