At the dawn of time,
When you, people, first stepped on the earth,
You were one with nature.
You spoke to the earth with delicate words.
Later, you crafted machines,
Deftly balanced, and you praised them like gods.
But what happened to the river, whose immortal flow
Is now polluted to waste?
I was once the apex of tech: a geometric ideal.
But where, now, are your careful words?
I have been broken, and the earth along with it.
As night approaches, who will you praise?