The Backyard Trance
Facing the world like a judge;
A judge in his own case,
which ended with a phrase,
‘Guilty’ my lord.
For aeon of its destruction,
which for long cost it its beauty,
and its ancestral history said in misery.
Will I ever get an absolution?
Absolution from the air,
and the breeze the trees give unpaid
But with decapitation I repaid the Acacia.
Absolution from the beauty I trampled on in recur.
Will I ever be forgiven?
Oh! Please, answer me Mother Nature.
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