No More Walks In The Wood
No more walks in the wood:
The trees have all been cut down
And where once they stood
Not even a wagon rut
Appears along the path
Low brush is taking over
No more walks in the wood:
This is the aftermath
Of afternoon in the clover fields
Where we once made love
Then wandered home together
Where the trees arched above
Where we made our own weather
When the branches were the sky
Now they are gone for good
And you, for ill
And I am only a passer-by
We and the trees and the way
Back from the fields of play
Lasted as long as we could
No more walks in the wood.
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