Was it ever really here?
that running ground for hare and deer,
a perfect mix of dell and wood
where hickory, oaks and larch all stood.

Land which rolled from flat to steep
cut here and there by gullies, deep,
divided by a marshy stream
so peaceful... it now seems a dream.

But that was in those younger days
recalled now through years of haze;
the memory may be mere ideal
yet it doesn't have that feel.

I last set foot here years ago
and watched gray squirrels put on a show
as whistling wood ducks flew on past.
I thought that it would always last.

Now it's all paved with asphalt,
greed and growth I guess at fault.
The world and folks I knew back then
are gone as if they'd never been.

But standing here by my old truck,
I'll rejoin them soon with any luck.
With me will die these memories
like autumn leaves on a cold breeze.