They say nothing is permanent.

Forgetting the sapling which once took shelter in the green,

Now a sturdy tree.

Which stands there

Watching two silly lovers
Stumble silently in a silly fashion,
As they hide between their devious passion.

And

Watching an old man who isn’t silly
Take a stroll
and miss his darling with whom he hid
When he was young
And felt whole.

And

Watching a fiery bird
Build twig by twig,
A nest for her tiny eggs
A home gigantic.

And

Watching the wind destroy
everything weak and sick
Like a humble bunch of sticks on its branch, holding a newborn chick.

And

Watching bricks drop to create,
Blocks of revenue, buildings to satisfy
Greed, and leave impressions great.

And

Watching the displeased nature
Shaking hard to throw off and display.
The large load of cemented stone
On the ground
Where it is supposed to lay.

And

They say nothing is permanent.

At least not the green.
At least not what it has seen.

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