For generations life rolled on.
The fen mire tended, grasses cut
So late the jack snipe fledged their young.
They’d hear the warblers call the moon.
Along with floods and moving herds,
Came armies from the east and west:
The Oder farmers watched them roll.
The sun shone on, the warblers sang.
And then the world began to shift –
At first came speed, then choice, then greed:
The opportunities were hewn,
The peat was burned, the fens were drained.
The golden warblers in the fields
Were lost amongst the teezel heads.