It is far too late to save
the withered branches of an oak
silhouetted against a dying sun
behind the dirty glass door
and beyond
the cracked steps
that used to lead to Neverland
back when dreams came to life
at three o’clock
when the school bell set us free
to roam amidst the grass
that used to tower over the biggest bullies
and covered our world with gold
but now
the grass is gone
went to Winter’s sleep but never woke
and the once proud oak
stands naked in the frigid wind