These branches are bare.

The sunlight cracks the branches above you,
intrusive it would seem, for these branches are bare.
The path ahead has been walked too often,
and not too far, you can hear the busy streets.

You remember a smell, one from childhood.
The smell of natures green, untouched, preserved.
Yet here you smell nothing but the city.
These branches are bare.

Bits of clear plastic, scattered here and there,
blowing about, like leaves must have once.
The city is growing, this forrest is shrinking.
These branches are bare.

A kingdom once stood here, a kingdom of green.
Emerald halls untouched, clean.
Pillars of grey are all that remain,
bricks, plastic, concrete, and stains.

This kingdom has fallen.
A wrecking crew waits.
The city is growing.
These branches are bare.