For forty summers I have lived <br />And felt the sunlight on my face, <br />Within the meadows where I walked <br />And daisies always grew, <br />Beneath my feet amongst the grass <br />Like snow that rested on the ground, <br />And there the warm and gentle breeze <br />Once dried the morning dew. <br /> <br />And there beneath the woodland's green <br />I found the cool and leafy shade, <br />And rested there so many times <br />More than I care to know, <br />For every year I longed to see <br />The trees so broad and mighty stand, <br />And felt they were a part of me <br />Where I myself did grow. <br /> <br />The birds once sang so sweetly there <br />And squirrels climbed the ancient oaks, <br />To gather stocks of winter food <br />They hid beneath the fern, <br />But autumn shall not come again <br />Nor shall the woodland turn to gold, <br />The creatures gone the birds have flown <br />And never will return. <br /> <br />For forty summers I have lived <br />To see the beauty of the land, <br />But now it has been cleared away <br />No longer shall I call, <br />To smell the flowers of the morn <br />And hear the songs from lofty boughs, <br />So plain the barren silence rings <br />A toll of death to all.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-forty-summers/
