When the trees had fallen
By the hands of men,
No one was was there to mourn.
When the naked patches of hill
Covered the blue mountains
And tall towered trees powerlessly fell,
No one stopped to mourn.
Upon the terrorised trees
Hovered the mother mist.
She snuggled them tight and whispered:
“Do not look, my children.
Nothing will happen.
Tomorrow, everything is going to be okay.”
Her divine wrath wreathed up to the ash sky
And afar-
Afar it went.