beneath a rich lofty canopy
lurked a sinister understory 
the wolf in sheep’s clothing
the unbecoming Rhododendron
that spiteful dominatrix 
in her leathery verdure
the one who abhors sweet lime
but delights in sour acidity 
the one who cajoles the beholder
while her acid tongue 
simultaneously poisons mother earth
her gaudy seductive blooms 
disguise her treachery
and once smelled of entrepreneurism

collectively in strength 
that ominous colony of oppressors 
once offered alluring sanctuary for game birds 
who were oblivious to its hidden agenda
fowl nurtured for foul play 
game that proved fair game
for the satisfaction of the few 
while nature agonised

but the game has long been over
and the game fowl long gone
and finally the Rhododendrons too
hastily removed albeit contentiously
to eliminate the menacing and venomous pathogen
who contended with the earth-poisoner for notoriety
ironically and unwittingly 
the once wily Rhododendron played host 
to this tiny environmental troublemaker
and was subsequently torn out with vengeance
regardless of her innocence 
to ultimately protect the precious and noble oak

people then wept for the absent bloom 
but nobody wept for absent friends 
for the flora and fauna that never flourished
and now that those ravenous ogres are gone
nature’s refugees may find agreeable habitat  
and songbirds might croon with sweet ballads of Wigan...

providing they avoid the town centre on a weekend night