When young and dreaming minds are set to wander Into distant and dancing planes A rhythmic cadence does beckon While the Earth yields to watch As barefooted children play.
The tire swings again Curious shadows linger Never too close Never too far A fulfilled existence to an unfulfilled world A silent presence to an absentminded crowd Accompanied by the laughter of barefooted children As they play.
When innocent children grow old And Innocence becomes Ignorance Unburdened smiles are replaced with Darkened spirits and carefully crafted words. The past still remains present. A mindful shield Guiding a hollowed crowd Absent imprints of the soles Of barefooted children Far too old to play.
Seconds begin to weather Tender breaths are met with woeful groans Hardened by the world Agonized by joyful memories Rotting from inside to out. Alone. Left to fall Without any one to hear a sound.
Here lies a calm remembrance, That while your melodies may become buried Entombed by Concrete and Machine When barefooted children turn To heels and dress shoes and speech The earth and roots will remain Tattooed to the souls of our feet.
For the trees that watched as I grew up, and broke my falls when I climbed too high.
Through eyes of dull green it sees, Through deep brown bark it breathes; A place of shelter it does render, For those have become too tender.
Humans are not the only animals it aids, For many boundless beings flock to its shade. To the wise Old Oak tree all the animals go, The place they hide from the wind that blows.
A habitat it does provide, For a world that remains hidden from our eyes; A world that will soon cease to exist, which shall soon dissapate into a mist.
The sound of an axe swinging in the distance, is the sound of another Old Oak being stripped from existence. This Old Oak is now the last of its kind, A species extinct thanks to the demand of the human mind.