Old Tree At New Wood
I used to sit in the old New Wood,
Before the renovations,
Before the signs and nature trails,
The wood from generations.
I used to laugh in the old New Wood,
Be quiet, peaceful and calm,
Now they've cut the most away,
And done way too much harm.
I knew every tree in the old New Wood,
Used to count and take my time,
Then the cutters came with their trucks,
Committed that terrible crime.
After the end of old New Wood,
I searched for something normal,
Something that I recognised,
That wasn't posh and formal.
I found my tree at old New Wood,
The biggest and the strongest,
But the best thing about that tree -
Was that it was there the longest.
Sitting there in old New Wood,
Everything seemed the same,
The evil people came and went,
But I played them at their game.
My Old Tree at old New Wood,
It's the only thing that's left,
Because the workers - stupid workers -
Were full of greed and theft.
My Old Tree at old New Wood,
Is perfect just for me,
Because it is my own little place,
My old New Wood, my new Old Tree.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryYeah, so. I decided to write a poem. Then I wrote more. And more. And I decided I quite liked the feel of writing any sick, twisted rhyme I wanted. So, here they are.
