Main Index / Jottings Index


The children have leukaemia
From the radio-active stones.
It won’t wash off - it’s waiting there,
Hiding in their bones.

That filthy power station,
The nuclear submarine berth
Have spread contamination
Round my favourite place on earth.

How can we bear such beauty
When we know what lurks below?
The rottenness is hiding,
The poison doesn’t show.

It’s far enough from London,
The siting wasn’t hard.

Their children won’t be dying -
It’s not in their backyard!

Still fit for God’s own country
Now the submarine’s no more,
The beauty’s never altered
But there’s death along the shore.



                                                                                                                              Latou                                                                                                          1995

Main Index / Jottings Index