I went for a picnic at Chouet today,
with tea in a flask and a sandwich or two,
to relax by the sea with a view of the bay
and a snooze on the beach with my sunhat askew
but when I nodded off, such a nightmare ensued.
I woke with a start, hoping I’d misconstrued.
I dreamed that a quarry, obscene and immense,
had spoiled Chouet headland: the land was destroyed.
It seemed so far fetched. It just didn’t make sense
to despoil a fine place that so many enjoyed.
There was something uncannily real in my dream:
a sense of foreboding. I woke with a scream.
Lord Byro
