Wind Turbines Wound (Pre)Turb(ed) (B)an(ner(s)) Up

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Wind Turbines high upon the hill,
They’re turning you against yourselves,
You claim Brontës,
Would not want these,
But you’ve never met them,
So let them alone.

‘phone the Press,
Detail your distress,
Sup on your over-priced cream teas.

Still searchin’ for lost victories,
Quote and then be smote,
They’re not the words YOU wrote.

“Publish and be damned !”

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Ho(u)riDJINNal stirumberlings from “Moon River” by Mr. Henry Mancini.

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