Think back, my dear;
can you remember,
remember the sprawling fields of years ago?
The gentle hums of farm vehicles as they roll on by
through sweet summer lanes
and white fences long gone.
Do you remember the untroubled laughter of the river
and the songs she sang along with the birds?
among the hares and the youngest deer, their noses twitching,
warming the morning air with their breath,
and, oh, the ivy curling its way around tall resplendent pillars like tendrils reaching for the sky- whereupon shone an equally loving sun, turning all it touched to gold?
Well now the bulldozers have moved in, the people and the bustling roads of pavement (never just soft dirt, no), the veranda looks forlorn, the porch sadder, like it’s been forgotten,
gazing out on the fields and forests of concrete that loom over them-
more imposing than protective, really,
remembering times before where it just was and didn’t have to have a-
have a Heritage Listed stamp on it
keeping the big bad wolves
from huffing and puffing,
tearing it down limb by limb,
plank by plank,
b l o o d y
b r e .
And the stream doesn’t sing anymore, you know,
missing its birds and the hares and the youngest deer whose noses twitched in the morning air-
they’re gone too, along with the farm vehicles and sprawling fields
and the white picket fence,
and now all we can do is think back,