I got really angry

when I heard a newsreader announce that a forest was going to be sold off to raise money.  It made me think that at this rate there would be no green areas for anyone.  This poem was born out of that anger.

What will we leave them

Our young, as they grow?

Where will there be

For them to go?

What about forests

Or meadows and trees

What about insects

Butterflies and bees?

Will they have lakes?

Or rivers and streams

Will these just be memories?

Things of their dreams

Will birds still be here?

In crystal blue skies

Or fish swim in water

Snapping at flies

What will there be

For them to admire?

Polluted waters

Thick like mire?

Concreted wastelands

Burned black hills

No flowers or green grass

The thought gives me chills

Don’t let this happen

Protect mother earth

Leave it for our children

This land of our birth

Cut down pollution

Not forest and trees

Cut out the chemicals

Those are killing the bees

Think of our children

As this land you rape

Leave the green belts

As a means for escape

A very old native

Was once heard to say

We don’t inherit from ancestors

This place where we play

He said everything

We see every morn

We only borrow

From those still to be born

Freda 2011