“The Circus Is Coming To Town”
By Susan Haley
Sitting surrounded by morning’s still
On the dawn draped crest of a rolling hill,
A forest community gathered in rising mist,
Their heads turned slightly in a listening twist.
A rumble in the distance was forming a frown.
Was that the Circus coming to town?
Mr. Rabbit snapped to attention, gathered his poise,
And wiggled his nose toward the distant noise.
I must run now and watch over my hole.
I suggest you should also, my friend, Mr. Mole.
Off they scampered, the hill, they ran down,
Hoping the Circus wasn’t coming to town.
An old black crow flew to the very top of a tree,
A better vantage point from which to see.
On the highest branch above morning’s haze,
Machines belching smoke greeted his gaze.
Fear stabbed his heart, recognition, his mind,
He cawed out his warning with all the strength he could find.
The mechanical menagerie inched toward the knolls,
Earthmovers, bulldozers, surveyors with scrolls.
The performers, the workers, saws with big chains,
Mindless to the destruction, unaware of the pains.
This embarking invasion would bring wealth of renown,
A bigger, better than ever, Circus was coming to town.
The forest residents breathed deeply in a resigned sort of heave.
The trees seemed to shudder and fold up their leaves.
The whole forest trembled with the pounding of feet
As they ran to their families with news of another defeat.
The brook seemed to gurgle louder than ever before,
As if issuing warning to the creatures that lived on its floor.
The doe fetched her baby, an amber-hued fawn,
And rustled it from hiding for the run that would come.
The bear told her cubs, follow closely behind,
We must hurry, quickly, a new home we must find.
The forest was a flurry, no time to waste
The Circus is coming and they must leave in haste.
Soon there’d be digging and gnashing of grass,
Clearing and grubbing for what was coming to pass.
Soon would come roads, ribbons of asphalt and stones,
And row after row of look-alike homes.
Stores and shops and restaurants to eat,
Yet, nary a place for the animals to meet.
Mrs. Raccoon worried just where they’d sleep next,
And the birds would be hard-pressed in building new nests.
Mr. Possum thought sadly of his family past lost,
Small price for the Circus, but to him, a great cost.
The frogs began croaking warnings to those of their kind,
Clean water for them, was becoming harder to find.
The trees that had lived so long standing tall,
Seemed to steady their limbs to brace, to ward off the fall.
The wind calmed suddenly as if signaling its dread,
Soon only structures of brick would stand in its stead.
No pungent fragrance of seasons, no murmurs of wood life,
To embrace in its currents, singing windsongs lacking strife.
As the forest scurried to move somewhere more right,
The rumbling approached faster, its target in sight.
In a large circle they gathered at the base of the knolls,
The surveyors quickly began unrolling their scrolls.
Smiles on their faces, fingers pointing this way and that,
They began shouting orders to men in hard hats.
Soon the forest was filled with the noisy whine,
Acrid smells soon overtook the odor of pine.
The Earth started moving, growing into a black wall,
A majestic Maple, many rings in its core, was the first tree to fall.
Before nightfall a great many more would be down,
The Circus was well underway in building its town.
Off a great distance, a coyote howled a new tune,
The wolves, they, too, gathered in the light of the moon.
Mrs. Raccoon dried her babies’ tears as she put them to bed,
Yet one more time they’d found a place to lay head.
The bunnies, tired, from running and digging new holes,
Hoped there was room enough left for the moles.
Once again settled as day faded and night fell,
Of one more move, they had lived to tell.
Yet, how many more would they be able to make,
If more and more forests the Circus’ did take?
When would come the time that there’d just be no more,
And only the Planet could then even the score?
Diversity and beauty in life is the premium gift.
The burdens, the effects, of our cause will be heavy to lift.
Try to remember the next time you see,
Death littering the roadway, piles of dead scrub and trees,
The circus being bigger simply may not be the way,
When the price of a ticket is more than we can pay.
Clean water, fresh air, the scent of a tree,
Is as important as living Environment rule-free.
Things have a way of needing a scheme,
A blending of nature with a sharing theme.
One day it will be people that sit with a frown,
When distant rumbles warn that the Circus is coming to town.
Susan C. Haley © 2006
Susan
Haley - author of "Rainy Day People".
Check out his Web site at: Sucarha.com/
Thanks Susan for the poem... John Wolf
