John Henry Green (1856-1940)
A remembrance written in 1880 about
his boyhood in Palos Hills, Illinois.
You may say that the hills look so squatty
and bare,
But in my memoir picture a great forest was
there.
A great virgin forest so mossy and green
overhead,
When the chill wind brings frost, that mantle
turns red.
The red of the leaves and the blue of the skies,
Make a sight that would charm the cruelest
of eyes.
Such coloring, just blended in millions of
shades,
While flocks of wild pigeons enliven the jades.
In a rift through the trees with the sun shining
through,
Scores of wild deer at play neath the heaven
so blue.
But the wild pigeons have gone like the spreading
trees,
The deer have departed, likewise the wild bees.
You may say that the place looks quite scrawny
and bare,
I love the place for what it was when the forest
was there.
