Life pulsing through her caressing hands
Lands covered by a richness of harvest, fertile with bounty
For a time measured deep as the oceans, just as infinite
Complexity, as to the single grain, adrift in the sands undulating through desert wind
Plan simple, harmony and intricacy abound
Duty, her life’s meaning, exists to provide
The soul of her, her life and wisdom, riding on every breeze
Her mercy and strength evaporate, beaten down by her children’s abuse
Man’s creation reigns, devastation, disease, greed, hate
Disease of raw invention, industrial death our fate
War, meaningless demise, self-fulfilling extinction we create
Draining rivers dry, exploitation without care or need
Ever loving, tears mostly gone, she allows her children choose death
Feel the last gentle wind, her own breaking final breaths
From her pain filled eye, a final tear doth glisten
Aching sadness in her, knowing we bring our own end
Why do we not know the way, she has told us, is telling us now,
If only we would listen…..
Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre December 4th, 2007
