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He sees the protest on the hill. A big white card
Proclaims 'Say No to'.
But the rest is hard to read. It's toppled in the wind. Ironic
It should have been the breeze
Because it says 'Wind Turbines' when
He stops and sees.
He wonders
Is there wind enough to think of it round here?
Those heavy turbines wouldn't budge
In this air.
But who is he to judge?
He hasn't the knowledge
Of the ins and outs
Though someone sowed the seeds of doubt
Was it a clever bit of PR
By those who farm in oil? In whispers not shouts
Plant cards in the soil. Make the populace
Decry the wind farm
Sow seeds of alarm
Forget the comparison of who does more harm.
The breeze isn't strong, he doesn't stay long
It's cheaper than paying for preachers in oil, he thinks
But maybe he's wrong.
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