My Little Red Radio

My little red radio
Plays my thoughts all day from undergound
The muffled noise filing
Out between crisp red and orange
Leaves which blanket the ground
We never get static or mixed signals
And the sound never dies.

I feel the wind getting more chilly
Like an air conditioner jammed on "HI"
The sky stays blue though amidst
Freezing cold temperatures and dead leaves
Like some sort of ancient painting
Never changing moods, but always changing
Its core purpose and meaning.

We never considered how silly
A fuzzy television would look
Sitting among tall oaks and elms
So, cut them down, chop them up
In their place, shiny TV stands to
Hold our new found love and inspiration
All glowing white screens in a barren field.

The radio sings on high
Its antenna poking out from the brush
And slowly growing little metal branches.
As they grow so does the sound
And we can hear almost everything.
The metal withers to reveal bark
And the sound has never been clearer.