From the ground they twist and turn, growing here and there, wherever they yearn.
Stretching up towards the light, out of the ground dark as night.
Sometimes green sometimes brown. Often with great colors they abound.
We need them to live, we need them to thrive. For on their breathe do we survive.
Yet we cut them down, burn them away. Watch as the green things begin to fade.
We seem not to care, until it’s too late. Ton escape from out awful fate.
When the last one falls, we shall weep. At the fate we will reap.
For our breaths will stop. Our eyes will close. When no more the green things grow.
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