Windsor Park

In Malaysia, developers are generally required by law to remove all fauna when developing new housing estates.
To witness the speed by which thousands of years of jungle are destroyed, is terrifying.
Several months later, all that natural vegetation is replaced with a concrete jungle.
Progress!! The inspiration for this poem

When I was a lad a used to play ball
with a group of my friends in the park,
and sometimes alone I'd pretend that I owned
my very own piece of park.

And people would walk and would quietly talk
as they strolled with a care not at all,
and the grass it would seem all so beautifully green
'neath the rainbow of roses in bloom.

With chipmunks abound and daffodils found
by the handful for Mum to enjoy.
I look back and I think what a beautiful pink
were the flowers that grew near the pond.

There were swans all around. It was soft on the ground
to just sit there and soak up the sun.
As a really young boy there was nothing but joy
just to be there in old Windsor Park.

And then when I grew to a father of two
I would take my children along,
to show them the sounds of the trees and the grounds
that gave pleasure for so many years.

And while they would play I'd remember the day
with a smile, how my sweetheart would lie
in my arms as the breeze played a tune with the leaves.
So peaceful and clear was the sky.

But the children would grow and eventually go
to their own little corner of town.
But my love would still stroll, arm in arm when it's cold
down paths of wintry leaves.

There was nothing so calm as the sounds of the palms
saying "hello old friends" as we passed.
Such tranquility, peace, an emotional feast
to soften the hardest of hearts.

And now old and grey I remember the day
when she left me to live on my own,
and the place where we went and the days that we spent
in the peace of old Windsor Park.

And I remember the day when the birds flew away,
I still have the tear in my eye.
When I heard the screams of the falling trees
and the groans as they fell from the sky.

And the cries of the swans as they fled with their songs
that would never be heard there again.
Rainbows of roses destroyed by the dozers
and palm fronds lay scattered like glass.

The music of nature, no more for the taking,
no more for the children to hear.
Concrete and fences and TV antennaes
now puncture the sky like a spear.

For time it is cruel to an old teary eye
and too, for an old broken heart.
For now a poor man's ghetto stands
Where once was old Windsor park.

Copyright Greg Barlow. 1997