The tree was two hundred and fifty years old.
The second largest wild pear tree in the country.
And now it is no more, laid out cold.
Felled by our new bureaucratic gentry.

Felled now to clear a path for progress.
For a high speed line no one now needs.
Why rush when now we can all work at home without distress.
Now all that is left of that great tree are new life, its seeds.

Once under its welcome waving shade we laid.
Once in glorious colours of shivered dappled white, we saw it.
Now over it a brutalist steel track is laid.
Once where there was timeless calm all is cast down into hell’s pit.

But one day there will be resurrection, a new pear tree will grow.
As mighty as the last, all despair laid low.