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
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
No comments:
Post a Comment