To those who save nature for future generations,
Cut trails and parks for Sunday hikes;
To others who think of growth and economic applications,
Of medicines, and minerals, and mufflers for motorbikes:
The oceans and forests are not for anything,
The universe is not here so that.
Its silent and raucous grandeurs encompass everything,
While we sit in absorbed and smug satisfaction, indolent and fat.
The turns of the world have their own private meaning,
They have no obligation to human thought,
The swallow, the brook, the tree o’er-leaning,
Are poems the people were told—but listened not.
