The birds they whisper in my ear,
of times merry long ago,
when they would fly above the forest trees,
and spy a berry tree down below,
and suck upon the great fruit’s juice,
letting nature take its course,
the air be filled with the sound of chirping,
as they suckle nectar from the gorse,
a flower like the Ulex,
a spiny yellow shrub,
of the European Legume family,
my history teacher told me all of the above,
because this flower it no longer exists,
its beauty is no longer mine,
so the birds and the flowers,
I can almost only imagine them
like our once clear city skyline.