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Money is green before me and my natural resource is tied into the replenishment our age... Oh, I call to you the father son and holy ghost.  

How and what did we have 200 years ago?  I ask my question with respectful future, where did we come from and how do we glide.  Forever?  Our labor, has been hard but there is a reason we find you young and old.

A plant and the soil beneath our cloud, the wild horses powerfully go by, the cotton we wear, the chair that we sit upon, by the sea.  I look behind to the sand dunes without the grass of my miles drive from here.  The sun shines where once close by, I could see my fruit tree and green grass.  In the autumn of past a fall atop of my grass below to wait & work before the seasons white snow.  Where I ask did this go.  

Answer my prayers, oh holy ghosts, for when started I will never totally see from 100 to 200 years.  For oil, gold, silver, & tress, so as I look down I see more green grass and a beautiful flower below, with my heritage and all that exists and others that will be watching this beautiful site.  100 years of languages a feather of ink, into a book type for me.

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