In happier days not so long ago,
It was the prettiest peach on the tree;
But the sun has gone and everyone's left,
Now only traces of the memory.
It was so plump, red orange and gold,
And reveled in its heyday of the sun,
But now sits here alone shriveled and dry,
On a pantry shelf, unseen by anyone.
The birds used to sing, fresh breezes would blow,
And the silver moon would give its caress;
But green butterflies have now flitted away,
It is just the way of the world I guess.