A Poem a Day (139): Death of a bluebell wood

This morning I read that The Forestry Commission is investigating the felling of a bluebell wood in south Devon. About five acres were mysteriously flattened from 22-26 April and residents are asking why. Bluebells are indicators of ancient woodland, often dating back to 1600. And I wrote this.

 

Death of a bluebell wood

The earth is screaming silently,

Jaws ripped wide open

To reveal a gaping hole.

Where once breathed wood giants

And a carpet of living purple

Where people walked since 1600

Is now a stripped battleground

Of stumps, rocks and waste.

Bees, butterflies and hoverflies

Float on the breeze with nothing

To pollinate in this naked space.

Where once a canopy of leaves

Shielded us from heavy rain

Like open umbrella arms,

There is an empty vacuum,

The moist brown upturned.

These ancient bluebell woodlands

Have been carved out, centuries

Of existence bitterly erased.

I look over this wretched land

And despair to think who did this.

A legacy of one man’s greed?

Uprooted, we search for truth

Amongst red tape and excuses.

The dormice and squirrels,

Birds, bats and insects have fled,

Wounded or rendered homeless.

Others died in the felling.

Where will the birds be nesting

Next year? They won’t return.

Where will we walk our children?

The trees have taken their own truth,

Their ancient circles of wisdom,

To the grave while nature weeps.

There is a gaping hole here

In the landscape. The heart

Of this Devon valley is breaking

And nothing will fill it.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 9, 2020