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Poetry from within
   

CARAVAN HOLIDAY


CARAVAN HOLIDAY







In regimented lines they stand



On swathes of once-green farmers land



From north to south and west to east



Resembling herds of sheep or beast



And where the ground is steep to rise



Patio doors point to the skies



The wooden stiles you loved to climb



Are memories of another time



In their stead are wooden stairs



To decking, filled with camping chairs



Where once stood trees of oak and ash



Stand perfect rows of Calor gas



Green meadows that held little lambs



Are full of cars and traffic jams



Gone are those lambs, their gentle bleat,



Replaced by sounds of trampling feet



As families scramble hand in hand



To reach the sea and golden sand



And though Iím party to this scene



I wish it could return to green







© Don Holmes

Don Holmes