They came to cut the
trees back
today,
slowly chopping, and
sawing;
gently hacking
away; at my memories
of golden
summer days.
The creaking of wood
screamed,
and splintered
my gaze, from the
window
of the room
with a view.
All the branches they
considered,
too long and too
low,
severed in sweet
morning’s
serenity. Buzzing
monster
offered no indemnity,
and with them
crashed down,
all my youthful eternity,
in the knowledge
of time,
they would take,
to re-grow.
Gone, the bow,
where a childhood once
sat.
Gone, all those green-dreams,
so idly
cast, to the clouds,
through tangled
rooftops,
and the heat-bleached leaves.
Gone, something simple,
innocent,
beautiful,
the day they came
to cut
the trees.
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