Ghost Children in a Ghost Forest

Step along the soggy, muddy path,
And listen to the trees.
Hear their songs in the wind,
Hear their wish-a-wash in the breeze.

See the damp, green leaves,
Basking in the mist.
See the rain trickle through the canopies.

Now listen close,
Turn your head in the wind.
Can you hear them?
The children playing.

Hear them chuckle,
Hear them squeal,
Hear their laughter in the trees-
As they jump from branch to branch.

See them crawl through the undergrowth.
See them clamber up the trees.
See:
Simon
Melanie
Noé
Laurè

The children that time left behind-
To forever play in the brushy leaves.

Step back along the mossy bank,
Till you're on the woodland's border.
Let the mist sift in front of your eyes, ever changing.
Let it slide away like the sands of time.

Look upon the sight you see.
Houses new and developing.
But you do not feel guilty,
You close the blind and put in the kettle for another cup of tea.

And you let their squeals of laughter fade,
Into the undergrowth of cement and bricks.

And that's because they're only ghost children,
in a ghost forest.

Author's Note

This was inspired by my holiday in Switzerland where you get beautiful, green forests being eaten away by urban settlements. Every day trees fall and we replace these oxygen givers with cement and bricks.