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Doomed, We're All Doomed

Take the Highland Clearances,
Take the land left red and sodden:
A wind-farm’s interference is
Far more shocking than Culloden.

Never mind the vicious claymore,
Never mind its brutal cut.
This is much worse. Need I say more
When my giant pitch’n’putt

Will pull heroic tourists to me?
This is like a nation’s death.
Scots will be forever gloomy.
Turbines? Far worse than Macbeth.

Every time that men have sunk a
Concrete windmill in the silt,
They despoil a famous bunker,
They betray the tartan kilt.

Listen to the wind-farm’s air weigh
Heavy on the Scottish heart.
Who needs power when a fairway
Is a Celtic work of art?

Think of history’s descendants
Hearing all this offshore roar:
What price then your independence?
What were Bruce and Braveheart for?

Golf is what the Highlands cherish.
Dunbar’s loss was chicken-feed:
Did Sir Patrick Spens, then, perish
Not to watch how rich men teed?

A caddy carrying a bag is
Weeping as these monsters pump:
Scots will give up whisky, haggis
To walk my course. I’m Laird of Trump.


Read an article in The Guardian here.

Click here to buy Bill’s new poetry collection, Ringers

Doomed, We're All Doomed

Donald Trump has described the proposed wind-farm near his proposed hotel and golf course in Aberdeenshire as doing ‘more damage to Scotland than virtually any event in Scottish history.’

15 Feb 2012


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