The Olden Days
The trees whispered in each others ear,
About the beauties and glories of the olden days,
When larks could sing without worry of hunters,
And even the caw of a crow was not criticised.
Those were the olden days - the wonderful past.
Now they have been forgotten,
Only the trees remember,
And so they whisper the secret in the middle of the night,
When people are in bed and asleep,
People who don't understand the value of such a treasure,
The treasure of living in the midst of true nature.
Their only true treasure is money, they think,
But they don't remember the beauties and glories of the olden days.
When the trees were treated as friends,
And often even respected - like Old Willow.
Those were the olden days.
Now, they have been forgotten,
Only the trees remember
And so they whisper the secret in the middle of the night,
When the forgetful world is in bed.
-2013
