Rising above the destitute land Barren are the quiet hills now Echoing terrain's vacant sound There, where sweet home was. Tree uprooted quivers gently Its scattered mangled remains Swaying aches of forsaken pain Mourning tranquility's death. In solitude this climb he treks Aspiring zest of rising dawns As they concede to sullen days Looking for her presence Ever since the oldest tree fell And the lone bird fled its nest. The sunrise still evokes her name, So does her beloved sunset. Despite the dearest hopes he held She never returned this way. March 5, 2019 Placed first: Standard contest #190 by Brian Strand