In this quiet coastal valley
Where both sun and rain
Hit hard upon open grounds
(Or are they wounds?)
Huge roaring trucks
Driven by mortgaged men
Remove the lands few remaining monuments.
As the din dies down
Once again the frogs are heard
But their chirps
Seem more like screams
Loss of habitat
Loss of habitat
Loss of habitat
We watch with lazy eyes
As the single tree leave strip
Falls to the wind
And the tranquil river fills with silt
There is no safe place
For trees to stand.
This valley is gone
Can anyone tell?
Our clouded eyes have learned so well
To see our dominion
As just and good
With respect and responsibility
Somewhere lost.
Amid this picturesque slaughter
As the trees fall
The frogs sing
Trying to warn us
Of our foolish ways. Nov 3, 1993
