Movin’ on Up

The birds don’t sing here anymore.

Their high arching melody replaced by the cacophony of John Deer lawn tractors.

The lake no longer whispers cool enchantments.

In its place runs a steady stream of smoky traffic.

The trees no longer give their ancient shade.

Suburban yards with suburban fences mark their absence.

Stars that once glittered endless in the blanket of night are gone.

The faded orange glow of street lamps light the sky instead.

They say the city has a magic all its own. I’m still waiting to be amazed.

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