Fallen oak
The crack was deafening, dread
Yet familiar to the bone
Prone by the time I got there
Dressing gown storm soaked
Feet wet and sobbing like a fool
200 years of reform to grow
200 of industry to mature
Now her decline matches ours
Hope perhaps sprouting in tendrils
From that vast, runnelled carcass
Shoots exploding perpendicular
In directions unthought before
Fungi changelings link arms
Unseen songs are sung, toasts made
Fairy acorn cups lifted to young lips
Image: