My car red and derelict pumps life like a cigarette goes here, goes everywhere its fuel my fresh air I call it my factory My factory the dog and I climb together high where the lowlands lie snaking down we two cry barren derelict this land we dry
there's some more verses to this poem but I have to find them. This one was written in the late 80s, when I was parked up in a caravan on a vegetable farm in the United Kingdom. We didn't call this climate change then, but we were well aware of pollution, especially in the northern hemisphere
#poetry #climatechange
