Getting The Green Back. Who recalls those (g)olden days when a mayor's word Meant a promise given by His Worship would be kept? Nowadays his Council consider this quaintly absurd, As the old Burghers say, a silly and antiquated concept. Back then when hereabouts was more village than town The mayor and hired surveyor set out in horse and trap, When well past the black stump* the two stepped down And in a sun-dappled glade they surveyed the map... The mayor could see a big future for his hamlet ahead, The surveyor was there to draw his mark in the sand, A green belt to encircle the soon-to-be-a-city's spread- Long after the mayor had fallen these trees would stand. But the young town came on in leaps and bounds, Town houses swiftly replacing rural fields and streams, Soon the rude city butted up against long sacred grounds, Such an impediment to investors get-rich-quick schemes! Builders gazed enviously upon the old swathe of green But the latest mayor recalled promises he'd sworn to keep, Told the investors this oasis must stay as it had always been- Or, he might change his mind- but change don't come cheap. Dis Honor and his noble Council convened in the Town Hall; Was any behind-closed-doors decision ever so open and shut? No mention of conservation blighted their conversation at all, All voted 'Aye' to clear that wilderness, each took a hefty cut. These days no mayor can afford to hold back time and tide, Hereabouts into soulless assholes pockets cash readily flows, and now brick-a-crap boxes litter the once quiet countryside, On once verdant glades only the grey concrete jungle grows. * The back of beyond, off in the wilderness, untouched by civilisation.
'Irrepressible little blossom, ain't ya?'