No more walks in the wood
 The trees have all been cut down
 And where once they stood
 Not even a wagon rut
 Appears along the path
 Low brush is taking over
 
 No more walks in the wood
 This is the aftermath
 Of afternoons in the clover fields
 Where we once made love
 Then wandered home together
 Where the trees arched above
 Where we made our own weather
 When branches were the sky
 Now they are gone for good
 And you, for ill, and I
 Am only a passer-by
 
 We and the trees and the way
 Back from the fields of play
 Lasted as long as we could
 No more walks in the wood
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