The acid rain cries across the valley,
And I face what we have done, …squandered our inheritance. Almost too breathtaking to look upon this scene of stale water, stunted growth and strange colour, unfamiliar to the land. Almost unbearable, too overwhelming even to cry out…
But cry we must, to break the spell, the spell of ignoring, And cry, cry, cry, the waste… the waste… until tears start the flow, first from deep inside, slowly rising to cleanse me of my shame, opening me in humility,
This, a bud of pure love offered in faith that some little thing is possible. And the tear? The tear, the first drop of clearer water that begins to cleanse the land.