Forest

July 12, 2016 at 3:44 pm (Poems) (, , , )

We chop and maul, we reap and crop
where life is cheap, but may we stop
and think again in forests few,
of crunching leaves and falling dew?
And may we walk so we can hear
sounds lost to us if we should clear
those placid guardians of the wild
we take for granted? Once exiled,
by loud machines that cut through wood,
our ancient souls are gone for good.

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