My Father’s Forest
A forest of yesteryear
Streams pure as baby’s breath flow through my father’s land
Telling secrets to trees with stars chasing me through the night
Everything was right
Until the corporate kings came to swallow my father’s flowers.
They had iron hounds
Silver dragons that burned the clouds
A brutish man smoking cheap cigars
Yelling at women and children that will not move
Their feet are melted into the dirt
The corporate kings wanted to speak
The elders gathered around
Listening to squawking sheep
My father grabbed his rusted sword and dipped it their oil he boiled
Slashing away the evil within
My father’s forest where I love to sleep
Is safe for now.
© 2017 Randle Allshouse Jr.