When my ancestors lived here,
the pleasant sound,
of rustling leaves,
played music to there ears,
There hooves made prints,
in the moist mud,
and the soothing breeze,
calmed there skin,
When my ancestors lived here,
Their noses smelled not,
the acrid smell of pollution,
but the smell,
of fresh bloomed flowers,
and grass,
from which, dew drops drip.
Oh! how I wish I lived,
in the era of my ancestors,
who knew not the smell,
of smoke,
the sound,
of machines,
the stench,
of refuse,
If they were,
to ever see the world,
in which their descendents live today,
they would ask,
they would ask where their beloved trees went,
what happened to the smell of flowers,
and fresh grass,
they would ask,
what happened to mother earth,
and one reply would answer all their questions,
man does not care for mother earth,
man does not respect mother nature,
the way his ancestors did.
