A soul has been coughing as the water rolls down.
Ideals of the grass roots not polluted by the age of industrials.
A stream trickles down the mountain side as lips touch cold rock to quench thirst.
Primitive and serene a natural affinity with the land.
Empty plastic bottles from a park full of deer stockpiled on the landfill.
Tears for the Indian.
Tears for the wild.
Tears for the outdoors man.
Tears for our children whom may never touch with their lips the natural waters of the spring.
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