what’s going on . . . .

The olden days, the golden days

Where have they all gone?

Google says: The price of gold is real high

The price of old’ll make you cry.


The woodman says: I’ll cut down all the trees,

Give you gold that’ll reach your knees;

The honeyman says: The gold’s in the bees,

The oilman says: It’s beneath the seas.


The gasman says: Oil? Oil’s from the olden days,

Iv’e got hydraulics to fracture in whole new ways!

I’ll pay gold coin for the earth beneath your feet,

Call me with your price, I’ve got you beat!


The oilman’s oily, he’s not there

When I ask about the ferns that clean and fan our air,

The gasman says: Hon, I just don’t care

All I want is my monetary share!


But what about the trillium, lady’s slipper, Indian pipe?

The squirrels, the wild turkeys, the chipmunk with his stripe?

What about the water, the frogs, the newts, the fish?

The woodman winks and says: Sounds like a tasty dish!


The golden days, the olden days

Where have they all gone?

The honeyman says: Hush now, listen

To the bees sing a brand new song . . . . .

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