An Old-Fashioned Song by John Hollander


No more walks in the wood: 
The trees have all been cut 
Down, and where once they stood 
Not even a wagon rut 
Appears along the path 
Low brush is taking over.

No more walks in the wood; 
This is the aftermath 
Of afternoons in the clover 
Fields where we once made love 
Then wandered home together 
Where the trees arched above, 
Where we made our own weather

When branches were the sky. 
Now they are gone for good, 
And you, for ill, and I 
Am only a passer-by.

We and the trees and the way 
Back from the fields of play 
Lasted as long as we could. 
No more walks in the wood.

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