Take one last look from Chalcraft Lane to distant Goodwood beyond.

Who can save this oasis of beauty with the simple wave of a magic wand?

In past times pilot in war and farmer at peace both had their hand,

In shaping nurturing and putting to life saving use this wide expanse of land.

Listen once more to the sweet song of birds, too many here to list,

Peer whilst you can at distant downs amongst the fading morning mist.

No longer take that early morning peep, one of life’s important but free thrills.

Instead prepare for concrete mixers and the droning sound of drills,

Neat brick boxes in varying sized plots, all tidy in a row,

Planned with care, every penny counts, from foundation to rafter up they go.

Ignore those consequences of gridlock traffic and rain struggling to find its subterranean escape.

Past the stage of resident meetings in village hall, steam ahead for this project of environmental rape.

England expects a mountain of developer profit, a concrete jungle, have no fear.

Stretching six miles from Chichester city and estuary to Bognor, still proud of its peer.

But wait, before we destroy what that local called his green and pleasant land,

Is there just one more chance to shout STOP and take a democratic vote? Go on, raise your hand.