The grass, the trees, the gentle breeze
This breathing, living land
Is calling out to us in fear,
That we may understand.

We cannot carry on this way
As though we didn't know
The trees all raise their arms to pray
Thy'll be allowed to grow.

In woodlands all across our land,
In forests old and dark,
There's death, decay, the reapers hand,
has left its dismal mark.

When once I wandered in this glade,
The bluebird sang its song.
The land then joined its serenade,
before man made his wrong.

We've brought destruction, you and I
To all we loved and knew.
I cannot watch my Mother die,
I ask you friend, can you?

Lines composed in late spring 1993 whilst walking in a vernal woodland and observing the destruction of trees and the decay from pollution of a nearby landfill site.

Maélwys /|\