The black fens

A feature of the fens is the black soil - very evident at this time of the year as the fields are prepared for the winter wheat.
As part of a creative writing course, a few years ago, I had to write some poetry. Now when I went to school poetry went dah di dah, dah di dah, and rhymed - now it doesn't have to - so I had a go!
Here is an offering I wrote then - you don't have to read it (I won't know anyway)

To the Fens by Valerie

I hated you on sight, you flat fens;
Foggy and freezing that November day.
“You’ll grow to love the land” they said;
“No way,” I replied, “I require rolling hills
to add interest to my weekly walks and
from my window daily distant views.”
But, do you know? Half a lifetime later
I view you differently, you flat fens.

You are still flat and featureless. In winter
frequently foggy, frozen or flooded. But soon,
come spring and summer’s gentle warmth.
Then the farmers in the fens bring forth
wide fields of waving wheat, ripening into
golden grain for bread, the staff of life.
You give us wide skies, spectacular sunsets,
sunrises, clouds, complete rainbows.

Autumn again, dank and drear. Now
a heavier harvest your fields yield.
Buried beneath your black soil grow
root crops; swede, sugar beet, potato.
Trundled on trailers towed by tractors;
causing congestion, delaying drivers.
Mud on roads, coating cars, what a sight!
Oh, flat fens, do I love you yet?
No, not quite!