Not a bee in sight
I walked into the woods as a boy,bare legged and bright eyed,
and nature rose to meet me,
butterflies dipped like living petals,
wildflowers flared in every colour,
lizards basked in sun struck grass,
as insects stitched their tiny music,
through the warm green hush,
grasshoppers chirped,
birds poured song from the branches,
and bees hummed they're golden work,
the woods were alive,
and I was alive with them,
now I walk there as an old man,
slow stepping through a place,
that remembers what it used to be,
a single cabbage white drifts past,
lonely as a scrap of paper,
the flowers have thinned,
the lizards are gone,
the grass is silent,
birdsong is sparse,
and the bees have vanished,
like a dream I once believed in,
I saw the best of it,
I knew the woods,
when they were a kingdom of life,
now they stand polluted,
scarred with graffiti,
a ghost of their own memory.
And though my time is ending,
I carry the old woods with me
the living ones
the ones that loved me back.
Poetry by JohnJohn
Read 5 times
Written on 2026-07-02 at 18:25
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