Rain Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

Are we not men, then
my sisters and brothers?
and can't we be mending
our false ways and errors?
Must greed and sad lucre
be sail and be tiller
charting the course
Of a dwindling future?

For the forests are whispering
'We are poisoned, oh, brethren,
by treacherous hands, and
our children are sickened
and the last of our races
are withered with toxins
and perish apace.

It rains on the redwood
that cover the mountains
the barks of them glisten
and darken upon them
I know the rain gladdens
the hearts of the redwoods
when branches are burdened
with unsullied gems