A man moved to the country
Where he’d built himself a home.
‘Twas a lovely spot
On a wooded lot
Where he could be alone.
For a while he seemed contented,
And bright smiles adorned his face
As he spent long happy hours
Planting trees, and shrubs and flowers,
As he beautified his place.
He enjoyed the solitude and peace
And the clean fresh country air.
His life was gay
Until that sad day
When his joy changed to despair.
For the city was a monster
That invaded his retreat.
Men soon brought cement and lumber
Now his house is just a number
On a busy city street.
“Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth.”