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We’ve raped and pillaged,
We’ve destroyed her soil.
Either by chance.
Or else, by toil.
Where majestic trees
Once scraped the skys,
A few scrub oaks,
Now survive.
We’ve captured her rivers,
And gave no thanks,
Now they’re dieing,
With trash littered banks.
Her beautiful creatures,
Her elk and deer,
Are not long for the future,
Or so I fear.
There’s none to blame,
But man, his prime.
There’s no giving back,
He’s out of time.
With patience, she waits.
For replacing her shores.
For with man, out of time,
He will be no more.

Hamp

This poem is Copyright ยฉ hamp