Crane falling like a dark shadow
Across the pale blue sky
Machninery moving, cutting, chopping
Building new.
The harsh moans of metal
crushing the delicate songs of birds.
Where has our picnic field gone?
To become a parking lot.
Where have the trees gone?
To make room for the buildings
Where has the laughter gone?
Was there ever any here?
Where has the humanity gone?
It has gone the way of progress.