Green

Smells like freshly chopped grass; sounds like a beautiful birdsong that you would never pass.  

It’s in the trees, the grass, happiness when there's wind in your mast. 

Oh, how you wish it would last.  

As of today, you shoot up, up from the earth, looking down in dismay.

A wash of worry hits you in a horrible way. 

Because all you can see is as if someone turned off the lights. Grey. Decay. Betray. NOT okay. 

You shoot back down, looking for answers, hope. The memory of green begins to fade away. 

"Where did the green go?!?" you scream into the confronting dull earth.  

Recklessly searching, you peer at an overhead flock. Is that it under that rock? 
You sweep the area, as concentrated as picking a lock.  

The absence of the birdsong and its beauty is disturbing; you cling to every last note, every last drop. 

But then you see a tree, standing tall, wild and free. The green looks strange from its sad newfound rarity.  
The colour drains from your face as you hear a confronting "Chop". 
The green, the gorgeous admirable green, topples down, down, down. Your face matches the colour of the leaves you once knew so well; you miss the trees, the breeze, the comforting swell. You can feel tears bite at your eyes; why is the silence so loud? Faintly, the birdsong is still ringing in the back of your ear. Harmonic and beautiful, and perfectly clear. Ravishly handsome and outrageously gorgeous, you picture the birds in the back of your mind. 

Whilst you cry you let out a small yelp. 

You've noticed that the birds in your head have stopped singing, 

Maybe rather than just a pretty song, it was really a cry for help.