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Organic Farming

They call it Organic Farming now,
Speak of it in reverent tones,
The Holy Grail of agriculture,  
Chemical free growing zones.
Soil being revitalised,
Natural Fertility restored,
That ancient long slow plough,
The worm,  there once more.
Replanting hedgerows once
Grubbed up for bigger fields,
Soil almost killed with chemicals
To ensure short term bigger yields.

Worms disappearing,
Insects near gone,
Less and less birds
Very little bird song.
Soil once crumbly and fertile
Became powdery and dry,
The sheltering hedges gone,
Opened for wind to blow away.
They may call it Organic Farming,
Just a return to less frantic days,
A return to old practice and
Long established, proven ways.

More traditional meadows now
Wild plants in windblown seas
More and more insects and
Essential pollinating wild bees.
The insects are returning and
Hopefully it won't be long
Before every country walk is
Saturated with wild birdsong.
My dad ploughed with Shires,
Now archaic and far away:
Now perhaps we are returning to
A more considered middle way.

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