Black sky so beautiful,
Peppered with a myriad sprinkles
of twinkling stars.
Dark, rolling hills stretch into the distance,
Far and few are the white ground lights
of farms and cars.
Fog descends
and invisibilty envelopes both land and vault.
How different it all seems,
So alien,
Almost like another world;
Yet this is how it used to be,
This is how it was meant to be.
Black sky:
White stars...
No yellow,
No visual pollution,
No city.
Salisbury (25th January 1988)
[The above was first published in Wrong Side Of The River.]
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