Ragwort Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

This bleak barren wasteland with ruinous rubble
Where buildings and shelters are slowly reclaimed,
By ragwort that clings to the crack and the crevice
On concrete carpets abandoned and framed,
By old rusting fences and gates that are padlocked
A perilous prison of damp and decay,
But soon it shall yield to the forces of nature
As slowly these remnants now crumble away.

As flowers do spread and then cross over borders
And sprinkle with gold with such freedom of will,
Where once was alive with the sound of the foundry
The steel and the furnace but now it lies still,
For there undisturbed all the weeds shall develop
And mask the harsh lines as the seeds are then cast,
On winds that will blow through this old blackened brickwork
And there they shall thrive with industrial past.

The years will go by but the ragwort shall linger
And grow ever-denser with bush and with tree,
When walls will all tumble then drowned by the thickets
No more shall remain of this shell I now see,
So shine on sweet flowers and cover this wreckage
Let this be a place then in which we can share,
For I long to witness the land in its glory
And hear the hushed songbirds again singing there.