Plein Trees

I've been where you've never been,
down in the valleys where the alfalfa grew,
to Isandlwana where ghosts could still be seen,
and chances of historic stardom were still few.

They stood by the wayside and watched you go,
wondering if you would possibly return again,
to undo all the blue skies and shades of indigo,
put wrongs to right and take away all of the pain.

Cry the beloved country with many mines closed,
gold in the sunlight ready for bursts of cyanide,
unanswered questions which only fools posed,
left on lips that showed themselves and then died.

I've been watching you to see what you learned,
it seemed like nothing getting your fingers burned.