the music in the wood
sweet rustle in the trees
there's a blackbird and a thrush
whistling in the breeze

the gurgling of the brook
clear water runs its way
the squawk of duck and goose
reveling in its spray

sunlight glints off wings
of the mayfly and its mate
there's a fox i see swift running
in the hedgerows by the gate

and by the gate lies the horrors
of grey cement and death
the rushing of the traffic
that suffocates baby's breath

the coldness of the person
who cannot spare a smile
a helping hand or word
to the beggar or senile