by Toby Bush
That’s right it’s sacred.
That’s right nobody owns it.
That’s right you can’t possess it.
That’s right you are hurting her.
That’s right you’re killing her children for sport.
That’s right your industries are poisoning her.
That’s right you don’t care for her.
That’s right you’re cutting her hair with your saws.
That’s right you scar her face with your bulldozers and plows.
That’s right you take black gold, her blood for profit.
That’s right you clog her pores with your concrete and asphalt.
That’s right she thirsts from lack of water caused by your dams.
That’s right you make her sick polluting the air.
That’s right you give her a fever with greenhouse gasses.
That’s right she may crack under immense pressures.
That’s right she could explode soon.
That’s right she may spin out of control.
That’s right her path could change.
That’s right you tear her people from their homes,
None of that’s right in fact it is all wrong,
all you have done to her you have done to yourself.
And for this the poorest suffer the most, we all do.
You build your highly toxic industries right along rivers,
In areas of the highest poverty levels.
Big government and bigots your discrimination,
Have kept us down, put us in prisons, taken our freedom and our lands,
You’re too big to realize how much you waste, just down size.
Hartford N.Y. is home and a wonderful place to be one with nature. As a child, Toby Bush spent most of his waking hours playing outside. As he grew he wandered further into the forests, fields, and streams to discover all they had to offer. With his brother Shane he would go out in the woods near the cold mountain stream and jump from high banks to swing from the young maples gently down to the water. His fifth-grade teacher Mary Stuart introduced his class to poets like Robert Frost. Upon hearing “Birches” he felt as though Frost was writing about his brother and himself. He then took an interest in writing poetry. After many years in obscurity, he recently rediscovered his hidden passion for poetry.