The Prayer Of Forest Brook

I’m a gurgling forest brook, While my path runs crook. I wrote my own book, That none cares to look. I’m the source of water That feeds any big river. My mother, the mountain, Keeps me busy in monsoon. Her husband, the cloud, Mating her, feels so proud Of the roles we play well To nourish the earth’s soil. When I gathered strength, As a stream on this earth, I ran the wheels of mills For grinding dried corns. The non-stop deforestation, And the growth of population, Gave way to concrete jungles, With adverse climatic changes. I pray, grow more forests In your own future interests, And our existence as well. This is what I wish to tell.