Some things lie unseen from towers of glass,
forgotten in the cages of iron:
The sound of water dashing over rocks,
the call of insects and quiet places.
The smell of the water, a soothing balm --
"i will be here even when you have gone."

In this mad world of speed and sacrifice
we sometimes forget the things that matter
because they have no price that we can pay.
To claim these places is to destroy them,
to buy them to place them in a bondage;
but to leave their peace is to forget it.

In this world of work and toil and duty
we forget the things that truly matter
because remembrance can only bring pain.
Lost in the sights of the too-bright cities
and the chains we tie tight around our hearts
is the smell of the stream in summer time.

We have the urge to run naked through streams
not caring for our possessions or pride:
Desperate to be the children we were,
to pretend that we were innocent, even once.
The irony is bitter, that this place
evokes pain as much as it does pleasure.

Josh MacLeod, 2001.