The earth changes in ways
Subtle to our hands;
We slash, heap and burn
And expect the earth to be the same
We pound on the fauna and flora
Still we think numbers will bloom.
Then we through seeds
In the belly of the earth
And when they don't grow, we mourn
When the tree itself down dies
We will die with it;
The earth changes in ways
Subtle to our hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem