Will tomorrow come?

The trees are nearly gone now;

The sound of axes hardly ceases.

I used to have this forest to myself;

I roamed at ease under a leafen roof.

Once I saw a buck;

You rarely see one now.

It was caught in a cruel snare;

I tried to loose it

But it panicked at my approach, kicking viciously,

Refusing freedom.

But that was all a long time ago.

Today the scores of women come

to gather firewood. What else can they do?

There is replanting? Replanting? What is that?

It is thinking of tomorrow.

Who thinks of tomorrow?

Our task is to survive today.

The forest is almost bare now;

Already the rain runs where once it soaked the soil and waited.

Now it gathers in a hollow for a moment

And people come with plastic bottles to the stagnant water.

Clean water? What is that? We need water today.

Tomorrow? Will tomorrow come?

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