The New Bypass

Clinging to sunny Bognors regal skirts At his Majesties most royal verges The readied hand thrusts upon the lever, And, shuddering, She forward lurches. Clanking ominously over diesel fueled growls, Expediency, they said, was driven to ignore: The raised up objections and anguished frowns, And track them under tracked-over ground. For by unanimous vote they did smugly decide, Albeit tales of backhanders hotly denied, That poor clymping Parish could no longer abide The daily through fare of the popular ride. So when you next travel upon the new Bypass Think of the local residents you no longer harass; Dwell on the advantages you formerly decried, Whilst ripping through the greenbelt to the jolly seaside. Think of their tearooms, and the little stone bridge, Think of the old fort just beyond the sharp ridge; Think of their gift shops decked out with festoons, With bright little trinkets, plates and silver spoons. For over and beyond the ancient on-looking hills Creeps an old warming wind that carefully steals: To gently gather up the wretched mechanical sounds - And bear them away above the pale, distant Downs!