The Ancient Wood That Teemed With Life Poem by Joshua Panee

Through morning rime,
Deep past the elder greens,
A secret spot for you and I.
Inside the wood,
Where only few trees know little of,
A special place for pretend,
For the young, without an end.
Now, barren of adventure,
No secret spots nor we,
Future generations will see,
In this forest nothing, no trees.
Not the magic, bare of seeds,
Only modern buildings and infectious weeds.
This place, our old childhood world,
Of this unique love and play,
Where leaves of autumn flew free.
The sky beach above,
Blue as the sea.
Someday, a little one will see,
After the wrath of the machine,
That very same place,
Where only few birds tune a song,
Witness to what has come,
And who has gone.
When all that remains,
Artifacts from out time.
Our carved hearts,
Whispers of mine.
Now only desecrated,
The young nature wasted.
Careless people,
Ruthless haste,
Don't forget our sacred place.
Childhood now fast pace.
Mother Nature and Man twisted in strife.
The ancient wood that teemed with life.