Mother’s mercy.

Growing old, growing weak wishing Mother Nature alone could speak,

explain her woe, declare her war bear the roar, finish what she swore.

Dancing on the edge each day too afraid of what you might say

hoping you might see her sorrow that she might not see tomorrow.

 

Silenced stones,

lands of falling broken bones,

raging rivers

lacking the company of little believers.

poisoned plains,

yet she might free herself from her chains,

escape the golden canes.

 

Let her have hope, let her trust

that she is not entirely lost to our lust

she will bloom, she will glow

like a jewel, adjusting she never was a foe

allowing you to watch her grow.

flogging a dead horse, why it all came so slow.