by Lorraine Jacobs
Copyright © 1995 Jacobs
Where are the strawberries that used to grow, In our back garden so long ago. We'd pick and crate them up till noon, Those fragrant red berries that came each June. Not much is growing in our garden this year, Not even enough for the fleeting deer. The earth is crying and so amd I, For the flora and fauna that soon will die. Why is it that we forget, That this earth is ours for a respite. Our children's children's children and on, need a furtile earth to live. Why do we take and take and forget to give. Do we really care as we say when others are near? Or is it 'lip service' we pay so we appear dear. We need to tend carfully our tree of peace. Else all life much too soon will forever cease. The clouds up above shall disappear, And with them take the rain from the atmosphere. Without precious water all life form will die. And that is the reason we hear the earth cry.
Information Provided by:
Lorraine Autry Jacobs
(When I wrote this, I had just listen to
a broadcast on Public TV about the Hopi
and what the strawberry means to them.
July 3, 1995; 9:00 p.m. --Lorraine)