In a lost land,
far down the river valley,
there were trees of pink Mimosa,
apple, plum, and yellow clover.
And in that land,
most every tree and brier
bore sweetest fruit.
The woods were alive with magic.
And there were streams,
that rushed with fish,
flowing like ribbons
from the hills.
Children laughed
where a tree house stood,
a frail defense of last resort
from tyranny and chores.
We did not know
of death or war
and all the other mortal scars
or why our father worried so.
I can't go back
for it is much too far away.
I can't go back and so I weep
for treasure time can never keep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem