I sit here in this sunlit glade beneath the southern downs
I gaze upon the beauty not yet destroyed by man
On six sides are bushes, trees of every shade of green
But sadly in this blighted land such scenes  now are rarely seen
Over there an aspen with leaves of silver grey
They shimmer in the gentle breeze like a shoal of fish at play
Close to me a stand of oaks so mighty and so strong
Their leaves so dark and sombre green abound with natures songs
There stands a tree bereft of leaves branches stark bare against the sky
I know not if it sufffered or why it had to die
Soon it will be the time to put a match to the fire
Then smell the fragrant wood smoke as it ascends into the sky
I'll sit quietly,  cook my food, drink a beer. Maybe a scotch
Sit and watch the westering sun, watch the moon and stars come out
Once more I'll wake up with the sun and a glorious choir is heard
No human intervention
Just a choir of singing birds