I want some acres with a brook
And a cabin, whose rustic look
Reminds me of those livelong days
When the worst social malaise,

Yea, the biggest worries we faced
Stemmed from fear of being caught
Deflowering neighbor’s gardens,
Since flowers by kids weren’t bought.

I want a place with many trees,
And all of them’d be a restroom;
A quiet place far from the world,
An Eden free of mankind’s gloom.

Acorns would be my fire crackers;
Grievous gunshots would not explode.
I could hear nature’s symphonies,
Not violent noises from the road.

Sycamore fuzz is on the ground;
Needles cloak the mud full of earthworms.
Moss is on the north of the trees,
But there are no echinoderms.

A preserve with bogs and lichens.
My wilderness refuge. My park.
Where I’d be able to see stars;
Where the night is still truly dark.

I would hide away like this dream
That I will never realize.
Dawn would be a wonderful sight,
Dusk would be its wondrous reprise.

Aging, I become more like Thoreau,
Though I hated Walden years ago.