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.