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a Francois Villon ballade
There is a valley east of Hamilton
where flying squirrels play and gentle deer
graze in woodland glades dappled in the sun.
A chuckling creek has salmon fry to rear
after plunging from an escarpment, sheer
and rugged as any crag. Unless they
change we could founder on the course they steer,
so why build the Red Hill Creek Expressway?
Before this inane undertaking's done,
many bulldozers and graders must clear
some forty thousand living trees that stun
the mind. Ponder the chestnut's chandelier;
the gorgeous maple colors in Fall; mere
environments that thoughts can caress. Pray
that folly will fail to triumph this year,
so why build the Red Hill Creek Expressway?
The ghosts of native folk will rise and run
to the Creator-Of-All-Things in fear
that they're facing certain oblivion,
their souls to roam in a dimension, drear
for all Eternity. Who'll shed a tear
a rheumy tear, on smoggy SOS May
days when semis roar uphill in low gear?
So why build the Red Hill Creek Expressway?
l'envoi
This travesty is drawing ever near
as concrete dust turns green wilderness grey,
for rare creatures will surely disappear,
so why build the Red Hill Creek Expressway?
- Francis Kerr Young
June 1/2002 |
