The land is covered
With miles and miles of road ribbon.
But think of the earth beneath.
Roots and shoots rise up in search of the sun,
But turn and return into the earth,
Blocked by the barrier.
Above,
In a country lane,
The boughs and twigs brush together
And the leaves nestle.
Beneath,
The tyres tread tarmac.
Nature is overlaid and bitumen-bound.
And there, where two motorways cross,
A pattern of road ribbon tied in a cloverleaf bow.
Cloverleaf!
Where no clover can grow!