Mother

With these rocky planes there is gold to mine mother! But look said mother, look at my beautiful trees and plains. Look at my never ending sky and mountains that try to reach, and look at my beautiful green. Ah, but Mother I fancy a different green that does not come from you. So then as it goes chomp, chomp, brick, brick, brick and that was the end of dear old’ Ma. Down with her green but replaced with other.