~ A Whisper ~
The rustle of the leaves
On the tree in the park
The way the stars come
When the sky is dark.

The colors of the world
A whisper of what was
Before the white man came
To take up their cause.

Our mother covered over
With pavement and concrete
Where once there was beauty
Now is just a street.

Now the eagle hides
For it can not fly
Power lines now cover
The once majestic sky.

The buffalo are gone
Forever from the plains
The fields colored red
When the soldiers came.

So now I have a question
What did you improve?
At what cost is your perfection
Look at what we lose.
Twanica Elizabeth Adcock
 © 2004 used with permission
 twanica@knology.net
 

 

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