Dreaming of the Road Ahead

It is wrong,
The life has been sapped from this once merry place,
The tall majestic deep red wood reduced to a crumpled heap.
The robins come here no longer
No longer shall they spread the melodic harmonies their sweet trill should give.
Color comes here no longer,
No longer shall the reds and golds of autumn sweep over the forest floor.
The light comes here no longer,
No longer will the sun rise high above the tallest treetops and burn away the clouds,
Leaving only the cool crisp air,
Without the dreary fog that hangs forlornly over what is left of the sickly yellow grass.
The path has been worn to bare dirt and a few trampled saplings.
I will come here no longer no longer will i share in the mourning of this lost beauty.
I have traveled better roads,
I will travel better roads,
But for now I must keep dreaming of the road ahead.