The bus spurred to life with a puff of smoke
As I watch the world slip by me
The lone tree sways in the evening breeze.
No glance nor thought cast upon it.
Its name long forgotten, its meaning non-existent.
It was but a tree, a nameless tree.
But it whispered to me of a forgotten time.
Where air was sweet and man at peace.
Fields of roses where butterflies dance.
I danced with the butterflies, I danced with the tree.
But when I fell, all I could smell,
Was the acrid air of burning wood.
For man have forgotten the name of nature.
I look yonder, the rose fields gone.
Butterflies dancing in the flames,
The old tree lay charred and cold.
The bus ground to a stop once more,
All I could see was a world that has forgotten.