My Copper Beech and the Rape fields around towns in the UK these days

There’s hardly any wind tonight
My Copper Beech is at rest
Bathed in a light sunshine
And very aptly dressed
Some olive leaves, some crimson
some vibrant copper too
Driven I’d say
Driven, to create a splendid view

Skywards is its energy
Its trunk smooth as can be
Proud and strong. with a lilting song
and a willingness to see
Far across the valley
Every which way too
Ashridge with its mass of trees
And the Rape fields what they do
A million plants with just one gaze
A gilded ocean view

These vast plains of obnoxiousness
That recreate through wind
A sense of psychic strategy
As it determined
Why would native species
Ever feel this way
They see a complex issue
When aliens do stray

But the commonplace occurrence
Of this corrupted weed
That receives a massive hand out
And with that it does succeed
And often at the real expense
Of our precious fruiting trees
Grubbed up so that the Rape
Can now be grown
With somewhat ease

Who wants all this oil
its local but it matters not
Erucic acid penetrates
the dermis, it has got
Some, and may cross pollinate
With the fields of industrial rape
so toxic but it looks the same
with all its golden drape