The Unspoilt Days

The world, was once young, and wide  
free, with many empty spaces
where dragons, or wyrm could hide.
The mountains high, the valleys deep,
the woods, and glades as yet untamed
And nature's sound, knew no sleep.
But now, those ancient times, are far away
where the spell of peace, has since been broken  
by new magic, that brings perpetual day.
The mortals now, have no love for brook, or stone
nor for leaf or bough or stream, and left unloved
the ancient ways, are forgotten, and unknown.
Where once, there was a tranquil calm
instead a clamour and pace races
unaware, of the wild's balm.
The world is tinged, by metal
worried, and wearied anew
but it will, seek to settle
with the cycle as its guide
reverting, back to its rest
as like the persistent tide.