How the mighty falls, lost to the axe. We can hardly breathe now it lies on its back.

You once decorated our land, but now litter it.

Once bursting with life you’ve become nothing, but a seat.

A bench a log that once watched over our streets.

It’s a painful day, a sorrowful one, knowing what has become.

I remember you there alive in my sight, but now you are nothing, but a rest for my bike.