Here is the dead bird, people.
Here is the fox, folks.
Trash spread on the ground. So
the fox hopes.
Here are the screams, friends.
The sound of the fox, folk.
Closed curtains and minds. Get rid of the
red noise .
Here are babies, friends,
that live in the trash, loves.
Red skin needs care. Hunting
trash the only hope.
Here is the earth, people.
Here are only the folks.
The colors fled the country, afraid
of the folk, folks.
Rikke Henriksen Winther
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