Only When The Last Tree

There Is No Quiet Place In The White Man's Cities. No Place To Hear The Unfurling Of Leaves In Spring, Or The Rustle Of An Insect's Wings. But Perhaps It Is Because I Am A Savage And Do Not Understand. The Clatter Only Seems To Insult The Ears.

All Creation Is One. What We Do To One, We Do To The Entire Web Of Life.

Tribe Follows Tribe, Nations Follow Nations Like The Tides Of The Sea. It Is The Order Of Nature, And Regret Is Useless.

When The Green Hills Are Covered With Talking Wires And The Wolves No Longer Sing, What Good Will The Money You Paid For Our Land Be Then

Humankind Has Not Woven The Web Of Life. We Are But One Thread Within It. Whatever We Do To The Web, We Do To Ourselves. All Things Are Bound Together. All Things Connect.