I look into the wilderness,
Or into the barrenness where my dreams were once planted,
Where once the sight of the fertile soil,
Or the sound of the arched branches,
Created wonders, that moved against the wind,
Like coy newlyweds, just married,
Delirious with joy.
I look into the sullen space,
Where the soft whispers in the air were once leaves,
Where the first raindrops were held,
Like newborns in the summer.
There were bluebirds, and swallows too,
That hopped from branch to branch, and swooped
Upon the berries that once were.
There were little squirrels, and hedgehogs too,
Jumping, or hiding from the sun, or clasping the fallen acorns
That were strewn across the lush green sea of grass.
But now I behold no green grass,
No branches moving, no raindrops being cradled,
No birds, no animals,
No pitter-patter of the little joys that once were.
I now stand in a bitter black morgue,
And there ends the life of all growing things,
The corpses are there, stiff and unmoving,
With agonies covering their ever ancient faces,
The mournful walk is not yet over,
And the sadness looms overhead,
I tell myself, “I know this is only once such cruel place”,
As I walk away from the cemetery of trees.