The Green, Green Grass Poem by Mad Gone

The green, green grass of home.
follows me, no matter where I choose to roam.
The blades of grass, weak branches sway upon the breeze,
and the birds singing tunes that to the ear so often please.
The village church portraying safely above the hill,
Remembrance of the thriving village and forgotten mill.
The courthouse once more keeps time,
and plays its orderly and merry chime.

The street which no longer sees the train,
looks forlorn and haunting through the rain.
The green spaces where families once occupied,
are now but ghosts of times gone sadly by.
The Blackwater no longer curls towards the mill,
the footmen no longer thread upon the hill.
While friendly faces still remain and often cheer,
They cannot begin to replace those of yester year.

The children stay to play in our old haunts,
we hear them echoing our same old childish taunts.
But they are no longer us,
and this is not the way it was.
The trees have become so dangerous,
and the mothers now too often fuss.
The scar upon my elbow and my chin,
remind me of how I often strayed and sinned.

To swim the Blackwater without a care,
to win a senseless childish dare.
But what would I have been today,
If I had not often played this way.
I would surely not have been as bold,
and would only do what I had been told.
But alas, the revolutionary I will become,
When I become too old for this self-indulgent fun.