When I foresee the doom pollution brings:
I rush to fresher air, but sighing more;
For out of younger lungs have we their wings?
Deprived what youth knew-not had breathed before.
At times I fall like many fallen trees
To lay there wonder: what am I to you?
While whispers send their answers by the breeze:
Without there me, have life no air that knew.
Yet hope do linger deep in future's eyes
Pray, hope will show before their eyes have closed:
Regrets are afterthoughts of somber guise;
For bustling earth turns loneliness reposed:
Immense in scale that all may drift ablaze
Then we'd have left our wake, our human ways.