Salisbury Cathedral From The Housing Estate (John Constable)

We've painted over the best landscapes
And we know what's left is leeches and flies.
Slowly the millstone stops and erodes,
As another ornery engineer dies.
Who cracks the wheat now I wonder?
Are these works in bright oil synthetic?
Bring me ominous sterilized carriages,
For to make rusty, for to fade plastic.

We can't really feed your strange hunger,
With this junk that we're putting to waste.
Handing heritage to the corporate beadles,
Driving us blind to a rhythm we paced.
And excess doesn't sully our morality,
As long as the carcass is bereft of thought.
Shameless worship of transitory mayhem,
Like a rhino in a car's headlights, I'm caught.

Conjure me some images of easy ages,
Where the leeches have the import as of now,
Where harvests were not ushered by the greedy,
But by diligence of man, horse and plough.
I will dwell on these and love them,
Brushed azure skies atop emerald shire.
But it's hard to love settings of Lowry,
The suffocation to which life shall expire.