No Hope

What could one say about something more miserable

Than the balance of our mother nature becoming irreversible

Where the wood duck cannot find a sole bough for its nest

 And waters blue gold detour brown mud

Solemnly because of the bad blood

Not one can hear a coke or see the cuckoo flower

And all the tongue-tied were felled just with a thud!

Pray tell, why we call this man power

And have the foolishness of taking everything seen and create a fuss

Until only we were born complete mess