To Monica Gagliano

Spring green comes suddenly to forest glade,
The naked trees bedecked in just one week.
We have no ken what language they may speak,
To synchronize their shift from sun to shade.
Our ancestors knew trees as fellow souls—
They had no need of Lorax to translate.
We technophiles have lost our native state
Of oneness with the plants that fill our bowls.

The violence of man is but a sign
We’ve severed our inherited lifeline
We’ve lost the instinct, what to do and how
To live intuitively in the now.
We’re unsustainable; this cannot last;
The greening of our lives will happen fast.

— JJM, from the Poetry of Onenesss

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