The Quarry
There was a hill,
Years ago,
Before Man's needs were great.
A beautiful hill,
With fresh green turf.
Not a scar!
Not a blot on the landscape,
Of our Dale.
Why must Men replace our Dales
With plains of stone and rubble?
Do we need the County's backbone
When others could be found?
Is there no alternative in this
So-called scientific age?
Do we need a beautiful Dale,
Or just a scar?
Where will it all end?
