Tuesday, 19 January 2016


POEM ON FUTURE 

When the last tree is cut down,
The last fish eaten and the last stream poisoned,
You will realize that you cannot eat money.
One day you come out from your house
And all you see id big puffs of black smoke and no tree
All you see the Cars and no birds!
All you smell is gasoline and no flowers!
What kind of life is that?

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