The path is green and shrubs do grow, But here and there we see some throw, What they carry in their pockets and bags, And what the forest and its animals lack. The gift they give the forest, some cans of jam, But the animals say, “We don’t need ‘em ma’am.” Yet, they are generous to give such boons, They rush to keep their promises soon By making some cities, and cutting some trees, They give them a lease and spread disease. The path is no longer soiled and muddy, The animals often are seen to be bloody, The bees have forgotten their friends who lived, The birds think whether the eggs have survived. The fox comes out looking for its den, It says, “Do I see a concrete wall? Am I sane?” The path was green and shrubs did grow, But now it resides under what they did throw.