‘Do our roots no longer nourish them’, said the forest to the tree, ‘do their hands no longer touch the sky, do eyes no longer see?’

‘Do our waters no longer whisper’, said the river to the stream, ‘do their ears no longer hear the wind, do minds no longer dream?’

‘My children no longer listen’, said the earth to the sky, as moonbeams pondered lightly, adrift in hue and cry

But from the earth our love was born, she teaches us to learn, and to the earth, until we mourn, our love it must return