Analysis of Growing Pains

I mourn my childhood.
I am back where I was eleven years ago, just with different eyes.
I see the streetlights from the driver's side, and I see my old home from a neighbor's view.
A new car is in the driveway, and the old tree was cut down. The house in the corner was painted over, and our rotting fence has been replaced.
There is no trace of my childhood apart from the second story window. I can see her there, eyes fiery with curiosity, knees scraped from playing too hard.
A silhouette.
My young ghost.
I am grown, I am grieving.
And the dying tree, the rotting fence, and the old house mourn with me.