Laid before me is a field,
The grass as green as an emerald.
Yet as I walk blades brushing 'bout my boot,
My brow is bowed by troubles.
For this land, is but a shadow,
Of the beauty it once had.
This used to be a magical place,
Where trees reached beyond the azure,
Like hands stretching for salvation.
The aetheral fire peering through,
Between the branches.
The soft sounds of scavengers searching,
And the ambitious songs of birds,
Beating away like a heart,
...