The Living Forest Of Thyllya Poem by Wicha Surin

The sun rises up in the east,
greeting the whole world in delight.
But then, I see the red dust of greed,
rising from the west in the land of blight.
Smashing and crashing the beasts 'o war,
they shun and slay their rivals.

When the dust settle down,
there lies the garbage 'o war,
torn apart by foul clowns.
Yet again the Mother heed the call,
and so she sow and plow,
her land with a mildy touch.

Rain wash away all blood,
that spill on the barren land,
and soak those bodies with mud,
like a big banner cover its clan.
Sleep now and rest well all furious soul,
and let you old memory be disbanded.

Worry not of your body,
for they'll be a new food source,
that will feed the children of dawn for eternity,
which will be millions of home for more,
of those nephews and nieces of the forest,
who will be resting here for long.

Weep no more for your sins,
for I the Mother shall forgive,
and let your soul rest in peace.
Protection of the after life you'll have,
and worry not of your children,
'cause they wil remember your past,
and sing for your fame in the name,
of the Living Forest of Thyllya.