fauxcroft

The wind blows

The jungle leaves rustle,

A roar cries out 

But its not the sound of a creature,

It’s the sound of mechanical destruction 

As it breaks down trees and rips them up,

Puts them on the back of trucks,

Fires burn and scorch the ground

As man rips apart

The lungs of our planet,

Tears away at the very Sinews 

Of our existence, 

Placing us all under threat

For the sake of creating grazing  ground

For cattle to be fed,

Never mind they comprise our

Right to breath.

You want to create grazing grounds,

Cut down cities

Don’t cut down trees.