Our Gifts


Good morning sun

This misted robe for me?

The trees are gossiping

‘Bout the way we treat their land

Statue beetles scattered

Upside-down looking battered

Kissed by pesticides

Our gift

One of the many we bring

We’ll spread our gifts

‘Til birds cease to sing

Tainted water running rapid

The wind howls earths suffocated cries

It calls to us for help

Urges us to open our eyes

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