Astley Park – Michael Stoneburner

There are echoes of my footsteps
beneath the great swooping sky
where trees once grew tall
before the fires came, the saws,
pits pourly filled by imported land;
where a playground stood childishly
before it grew up, adults unwanting
undeserving of its swings;
where native birds sang native songs
before the miners came and stole it
and the trees before held them;
where has this place gone
before my footsteps became echoes
and a green plot turned brown?