Older people may throw up,

But the young must surely live;

Stepping away from our debris,

They must dream something new.

 

Nature forges a tiny rod

To pulverize our gumption;

Time to learn a language new

That may induce a resumption

 

Of foliage and fresh air,

Of waters blue, pristine,

A sky unshackled from our greed

And glaciers thick and clean;

 

Where seasons show plumage due

Of timely blossom and bird,

Where advancement is betokened by

A shared kitty and a milder word.

 

Where hills, peoples, animals

Are not feed for power,

Where the least leaf and creature is

More than a Trump tower.

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