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
