Once, the sky stretched wide and true,
A canvas of endless, brilliant blue.
Where birds would dance on morning air,
Their songs a symphony, pure and fair.
The sun would rise with golden glow,
Over fields where wildflowers grow.
Lush rivers would hum a gentle tune,
Beneath the watchful eyes of the moon.
The village was a quiet song,
Where people lived where they belonged.
The earth was kind, the air was sweet,
In harmony, hearts skipped their beat.
But now the skies are veiled in gray,
The songs of birds have gone away.
The rivers murmur, choked with dirt,
The winds now sigh, as nature hurts.
The trees that once stood tall and grand,
Are now replaced by stone and sand.
The village hums a different sound,
With machines that shake the sacred ground.
Yet deep within, a hope still stays,
That one day, nature finds its ways.
Perhaps the sky will clear once more,
And birds will sing the songs of yore.
But until then, we watch and wait,
As beauty battles modern fate.
And pray that we, in time, will see,
The world reborn in harmony.
Comments