Dreams Won’t Save The World by Andy Eycott


I dream of walking  

on sandy beaches every day, 

sharing footprints with birds 

with names like sandpiper and curlew. 

Watched by sea bound gulls 

who had witnessed me grow  

through my childhood. 

Greeted by seals trailed by their pups, 

skimming the surf, 

waving to me out of curiosity. 


Yet my daily steps are those  

of concrete and stone 

the only rivers that flow 

are those of endless cars  

eroding through emissions 

any nature that tries to survive. 

This is my life, born to the city, 

rather, the shadow of bright lights. 

Exposed to squirrels and pigeons 

and sparrows before they flew, 

I remember blossoming trees 

that once adorned the avenue. 



I remember the hum of bees 

and the magic of dragonflies 

and for a week each summer 

I would visit an aunt and see 

ripening fields of gold 

and stories would be told 

of when my mother went ‘hopping.’ 

I remember the sadness in her eye  

when telling of days gone by. 

Maybe if I was born to the field 

not factory, I would have fought  

harder, understanding the loss, 

realised the unforgiving cost. 

My older generation failed me 

and I realise that I have failed too. 

I hear my voice telling my grandson  

stories of things that once were, 

seen through the eyes of my mother