We lay here in the cold harsh wind,
Which whips at our knobby limbs relentlessly The excavators plough through the soggy mud Which laps up at us, daring us to crumple. The chainsaws bark at us And tear through our coarse meat, We are stuck here forever, incapacitated and insecure No one to sing out to or shout “Help”! The wildlife clings to our branches Nowhere to take refuge, no ranches. The product goes on into the store All for the business who gets money for murder They will never stop what they have begun We sing out in vain to stop what they have done The savage blades lash out once more Until there is nothing left, nothing at all. By Aaron Ashby |
Short is the life we are governed,
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palm oil | 2 original Poems about palm oil |