Put the leaves back on the trees,
grow the skin across the bone,
dream the words onto the page,
this land is but a scar regrown.

Grow the skin across the bone, 
dream the words onto the page,
this land is but a scar regrown,
it feeds upon each bygone age.

Dream the words onto the page,
the ink is blood much bled before,
its flow you never will assuage,
its what our hearts keep beating for.

This land is but a scar regrown
each strata laid is ever new,
its timeless wound forgot, unknown,
new pores to let the blood bleed through.

So put the leaves back on the trees
give back with love what nature took,
our time we steal like hapless thieves
our lives mere chapters in a book.

© Wolfgar 2018