The Clearing

I once had my place,

Where the trees all had a face,

And the winds were words

While there was a constant hum of birds.

It was deep in the woods,

My land of lost goods.

The roots were all trees

And they moved with the breeze.

I loved to hide deep in the thickets,

And knew I had to leave, once I heard the silence of the crickets.

But once morning arrived,

I wished to go back to my beehives.

Yet I am far away.

The skies are now grey.

I long to soar like a butterfly,

Back to my clearing in the forest, must you wonder why?

I miss the little fishes in the pond, who were scaley.

The sky was a canvas, that was painted for me, daily.

I miss my rock, oh, I miss it so,

Along with the lightening bugs' iridescent glow.

They’ve taken it down, my little dome,

And replaced it with somebody’s home.

If I could, I would have kept it longer,

But the lumber companies were surely stronger…

Sunset rays; I used to sit and watch,

Now only shine through clouds like a splotch.

To visit the place that I once loved,

That place is gone, in the ground, it has been shoved.

All I want is to fix it whole.

But it’s been burnt to nothing but ashes and coal.