Heaped full under humped canvas
Flapping wild, is their trash secured ?
Pressing west, leaving big cities,
Not treasured their trove on board.
Sleepy eyed with the hammer down
Hears his metal stallions floored,
Gulping in clean air to guzzle fuel,
Pipes puke blue, that black lung sword.
Dank smells trail to our fair meadows
Destination figured to fume you and me.
Gonads great are gorged of garbage
Which rut our lands long green and free.
When fields serviced huge landfills rise,
But you must be careful what you cannot see.
Clear treasured waters, clean, sparkling pure
-Gone- Gone just as they, the Lenni Lenape .
Ronald C. Downie