Before me lies a plain field
Stretching out as far as sight can see
I can’t even hear humanity’s plea
All the blemishes of people concealed

Silent, like the growth of non-existent flowers
Not a touch of sound
Do you hear the bee’s humble buzzing? Look around
Serenity and serendipity devours the hours

Unnaturally quiet, one might say
What has kept the swallow so powerfully at bay?
And where are the trees, tall and strong?
When supposed to, for all, Doomsday prolong?

Matter not though it does,
For I am happy
Past was the time for trees to be present
And who wants to hear the bees’ irritable buzz?

But shortened was my joy,
As suddenly the screeching calls arise
It was a perfectly made coy,
Nature in nature’s disguise.

And after all, the peace no more,
For the birds shout, wings flapping,
The trees sprouting from the dirt floor,
All that’s left is the tapping.

The tapping enough to make one mad,
Coming from the air and ground and sea,
As if I’ve been hit by iron-clad,
It’s torturing me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.