Beyond this point
With not the wit to
comprehend
His role in Nature's Play
Quite separate from
the scheme of things
He mastered all
he could survey.
And thinking it
A place that's strange
Of almost infinite resource
Imposed on what he can't
admire, some monument
that's set in stone
To ignorance
And sometimes worse
To those, a plague a curse
Who'd measure what
The profit yeild
To burn the cattle
In the field
And think there nothing
much amiss
What kind of progress this?
Or use to ask
What we have done
When fields and trees
and rivers gone
And those who keep
The Common Good
have left a legacy that read
Caution you must be afraid
Beyond this point
There's Poison Laid.
The Photograpg is a view looking
west from Tara.
Enough said!
The poem is from the time of the foot
and mouth crisis.
