I sit these days
       beneath the trees,
And listen to
       the wisp'ring breeze.
The words it speaks
       now say a lot,
About mans fate
       and social rot.

It speaks of pain
       from mortal hurts,
And how man earns
       his just deserts.
Of how we've raped
       our Earthly Mother,
And how in hate
       we've killed our brothers.

It speaks of wars
       that can't be won,
The price we'll pay
       for what's been done.
And on it blows
       with timeless grace,
This ancient sage
       to human race.