Changing tides

Frequent Storms, more have they been,
Now where the sun grows strong
The time when we can hide away has gone on for too long

Expose to all the reality of what there is to be
What will become of this old world
When there is only one last tree

There is some hope, of course there is
Its not the end at all
but those who control and own the most
want power even more

And blinded by this love of power and blinded by their greed
They do not see the struggling souls trying to meet their every need

The crying orphan without a home and cuddles to keep warm
The hungry child holds its mothers hand,
with no means to grow food on taken lands.

They do not matter to them you see, as from them there is no profit
Not unless they need more workers to pay a pittance to
While they reap all the benefits

And so it goes on, what will become,
of this old world then?

Of course, there is some hope one day
That those in power will see,  though it may be far too late
When they gaze on that last tree
Then stillness, and a silence may reign