They are tearing down the fire station
Cubes are scattered across a churned up field
Soon it will be a glittering cave of light
At least the common cannot be defiled
I have seen its grass sea whitened with frost
We yearn for natural light, weather
And seek to re-capture what is lost
In Oak Furniture Land, World of Leather
Once this road passed through an ancient forest
Always, the green wood pushes through
The new furniture is temporary at best
I pass the fire station thinking how you
Would see a maypole, a druid at the bus stop
Soon there will be a new place to shop