How many autumns will I see again?
For michief moves beneath the forest loam,
The busy fingers of these mortal men
Above the earth have build a toxic dome.
When acid rain precipitates to Earth
The flora and the fauna dance with death,
But those who really care we count their dearth,
And cry our silent plea with dying breath.
Two hundred years I've stood within this wood,
From acorn to a tower I have grown,
And even bitter winters I withstood,
Although some claimed that they had heard me groan.
For now I'll dream of pure and crystal rain,
And wonder if our deaths are all in vain.
Gold trophy winner
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