Between the breeze blocks, trees are flaking.
Between the tower-tops, they're aching.
Between machine-built shards and sheens,
Bricked-in, blocked-in, barred-in, boxed-in,
they droop.
No one stops to look or care,
Office-hopping, square by square.
No one sees them stooped out there,
Starved and squeezed like limbs diseased,
Quaking.
No one hears their pleas.
The buzz of big business blasts the air:
There are deals to make, bosses to please.
No time for trees!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem