Pavements

The  roots of trees don’t know what  pavements are
They heave them up as if by spite inspired
So older people to fall  down  by the cars

Underneath the   cobbles and the tar
Burns the earth with its creative fire
The  roots of trees don’t know what  cobbles are

To the boiling centre falls a star
And there it floats, a tadpole in a mire
Where older people  run  from falling cars

Above the water stands the Judge desired
See reflected, crooked Christian spires
The roots of trees don’t know what worships for.

With creative heat, I now perspire
My language shatters, breaks the  nerves of liars
When older people catch  a falling car.

I see a blade of grass with sun conspire;
Then comes again the soft yet poisoned tyre.
The  roots of trees have cracked the  pavement here
The older  people  pitied Hamlet and King Lear