Deforestation

The softest breeze swept through the trees,
The sun filtering through the leaves.
The slightest trickle of water ran down the stream,
The vibrant colours of the forest were almost a dream.
There was only a small rumble in the distance,
Its presence ever persistent.
The sky above becoming a haze,
As threat move closer with each passing day.
Over the great vastness of the forest,
Trees were cut down, ripped from their roots,
As if they weren’t a living thing too.
Soon this would be nothing but dirt,
With nothing but the memory of trees being hurt.