Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Paradise


Paradise

It was just a stand of trees
at the edge of another field
for years I passed without a glance
until a cheerlessly sunny January day

I suppose there's always romance in how things used to be
and not everywhere can be wild

the smoke on the horizon is what caught my eye
drawing close, I saw metal machines had done their rape-and-pillage work
and sons of Adam were cremating the evidence
I paused to watch and grieve

then out from the edge of the wood still standing,
a pheasant in his resplendent garb
cautiously advanced
and then retreated from this human's presence

oh paradise, you are not lost
we mowed you down and plowed you up
and called it progress

I suppose there's always romance in how things used to be
and not everywhere can be wild

It was just a stand of trees
at the edge of another field

oh paradise