Never a man has walked this land Who owned a cloud, a pebble or a tree For these, like scattered winds and sand Belong to me, to all and to thee Bound we are, as we mark time On this earth's tender knoll To nurse tender vine and pungent thyme For every thing with us has a soul But when man's ruse Betrays heavenly truce And his song is carried on high All will see the lie For the eyes of heaven see harm done By man and kin and clan alone And as its gates to eternity recoil Men's hope of salvation they foil She stands no longer, the great magnolia By machines cut down, grotesquely mutilated She'd have fared better in Mongolia Where trees are respected, venerated Earth Mother, forgive these brutes Their hideous, loathsome sin May the divine song of chthonic flutes Help them find the love they possess within [07 IV 04]