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Ceaseless.(M.P.Bridger)Thr traffic is ceaseless now. The noise, the fumes, the pollution. The road my Grandfather played cricket on As a small boy...is no more. Claimed now by councils,cars and concrete, It still travels past our house. Though now it roars Screaming its presence To those behind rattling front doors. My Grandfather witnessed its coming As did his father and mine. Slowly but surely this black tarmac snake Weaved its way, devouring gardens as it grew. Compulsory purchase or theft? Democratic or despotic? Either way it's the same. Statistics for all to see. Animals wild and tame, dead. Pedestrians and motorists, dead. Roads get faster,cars get faster,lives get faster And are snuffed out just as quick. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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