The tiny houses stacked so high 

They almost reach the sky

Yet, if the walls could truly talk

They surely wouldn't lie

They'd tell the tales 

of years gone by

When life was simple for you and I 

When homemade pies 

and crusted bread 

was relished in the heart 

When little minds lay relaxed after day's play in the dirt 

The sky was quiet Birds flew through the clouds 

The land was ours... to work, to plough

Yet, times have changed and 

Bared we sit 

As our homes are wrecked 

Quiet robbed As silence means a new fear 

Noise is often now, welcomed here. 

The scene you see in a picture card 

May not be the truth... 

For when the night comes It's time to pray 

May we see another day. 

How nice would it be 

To awaken...to the yesteryears 

All solid and not shaken 

To peace and love, joy and calm 

Your hand in mine 

Neadeth the balm

To live again in our happy homes 

Renewed freedom... for all reawakened. 

 Poem by Lisa