Apology To the Eighth Generation
Child of the 8th generation;
I do not know your names.
I think of you so often;
And hang my head in shame.
There will be no fresh water;
no parks in which you play.
The air will be polluted;
We've thrown your future away.
You will not hear the birds;
singing from your morning bed.
The flowers will not bloom;
All natural life will be dead.
My generation didn't care;
enough to preserve our Earth.
You will inherit sorrows;
from the time of your birth.
I am sorry wee ones;
My heart cries tears for those.
Who will be born into a world;
where only greed does grow.
Darlene Doll Smith
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