With midnight crows wheeling overhead
I stand by the silent mine;
and gaze at the shuttered houses
of the streets, where I spent my time.

A figure walks towards me
with a crown upon his head;
a glittering cloak around him
“I’m progress” he said.

“I’ve come from Westminster’s marble halls
And I have changed this place”
and I sense the power in his heart
and there’s greed upon his face

He waves his arms around him
at the slag heaps black as night;
and with flashes from his fingers
turns them green and bright

We stroll around the village
and see the work he’s done;
we see the trees he’s planted
But where have the people gone?

We see chimneys no longer smoking
we see fires without coal;
We see a sports hall spring up, gleaming
We see a village without a soul.

As we stand there gazing
three figures come over the hill;
the middle one bent and weary
and his face all black and still.

Upon his head’s a helmet
with a lamp upon his brow;
in his hands he holds ebony wealth
but no one wants it now

He staggers up to progress
with his companions at his side;
with a bow he says “I’m death,
meet my friends dignity and pride.

We’ve worked for many a year here
and after all that toil;
you’ve thrown away our birthright
for wealth ‘neath foreign soil”.

As progress stood impassive
gaze rooted to the floor;
the figures wandered westward
and were lost for ever more.

At just this point a cry was heard
plaintive, and piercing shrill;
and an urchin gradually appeared in sight
staggering over the hill.

A boy stood there all in rags
“Who are You?” Progress said;
“I’m future” he said with a bewildered air
“And I’m begging for my bread.”

Progress looked at future’s dirty face
and knew not what to say;
things thought at night in intellect
don’t always survive in day!

And so now I’m left alone
with these images in my head;
and the tears flow down my cheeks unchecked
for a way of life that’s dead.

Sandra Booth