You’re Albion’s ruin, landscape’s demise,
You stand like giants against open skies,
Most brutal of forms that none can disguise
You ravage our view.
You intrude, you spoil, you loom, you tower,
You buzz and splutter, menace and lour,
But day by day you bring us our power
Though your friends are few.
Always prosaic, never poetic,
Hardly graceful, scarcely balletic,
Lenin, alone, once found you aesthetic,
You mis-shapen hulk.
From Barry to Cwmbran, from Torness to Leith
You cut a crude swathe across forest and heath
With little regard for what lies beneath
Your lumbering bulk.
From Hinckley to Bristol, from Drax to Leeds
You stride over cornfields, orchards and meads
To harness the voltage that industry needs
By day and by night.
Yet streetlamps, hospitals, factories, schools,
Laptops, cookers, televisions and tools
Rely on your plenteous gigajoules –
So let there be light!