I will still love you, Mother.
Do you ever hear those words?
Do we ever think to say them,
to make such a promise to the unknown future?
I will still love you.
I will still love you when the last acre of old growth forest
falls beneath chainsaws and bulldozers.
I will still love you when the mountain peaks remain barren in winter,
dark stone touched by neither snow nor ice.
I will still love you when 'winter' becomes a meaningless word.
I will still love you when the songs of frogs, bees, and chickadees fall silent
and the dry summer winds taste of ash.
When the skies are empty
and the oceans dead
and the fields buried under concrete,
I will still love you.
I will still love you, Great Mother,
when we have destroyed you.
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