By Jane Richer and Pam Murray
More and more we see Windmills used to power our life,
Rows and rows of turning blades each a whirling knife.
Sending cooling air through stagnant skies and polluted lands,
From atmospheric essences to fill our many demands.
Electrical power is all the craze we must keep machines in play,
Forget the damage that we do, making our world turn gray.
Faster, quicker, our world is spinning vastly out of control,
No one stopping to see Earth and pray for her precious soul.
Yes, we are turning like the windmill too busy to stop this spin,
Too caught up in the speed we seek, to remember the peace within.
To catch our breath, slow down, and realise-progress comes in stages,
Otherwise the book of life is missing too many pages.
For once 'torn' out, the next generation will have nothing left to save,
And Earth which was so glorious will become our desolate grave!