I sometimes grumble when the trees

    Let down their leaves and flowers,

For in my garden, ‘neath these trees,

    I work for hours and hours.

 

I sweep the leaves, I plant the bulbs,

    I mow the lawn and then,

The weeks go by or just the hours

    And it’s there to do again.

 

But underneath these lovely trees,

    I breathe in God’s fresh air.

I hear the blackbird and the thrush,

    Who sing without a care.

 

The sun shines down and warms the soil;

    The rain brings life and growth

And we are glad, of course we are,

    That we have much of both.

 

But, in the cities of our world,

    Man’s mark is clearly seen,

For, in this urban jungle-land,

    Is yet another scene -

 

For towering skyward, cheek by jowl,

    The man-made buildings rise,

And, pollution from the city streets,

    Is thrown into the skies.

 

This unseen killer roams around,

    Attacking old and young.

It sheds not leaves or nature’s flowers,

    But seeks your human lung.

 

I’ll quickly leave these city streets;

    Goodbye polluted air,

And in my garden, far from here,

    I’ll work without a care.

 

 

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White Royal Two Worlds -Heading Reflective Poems 1 On the Street That Heaven-Felt Still In the Magic Place Rush Hour Good Morning Yorkshire