In wilderness parks

Where jack pine grow,

Between the garbage cans

Hung row on row,
You pitch your tent

On a wilderness site,

Close to the outhouse

You might need in the night.

Let a decade go by

And your children return

To the wilderness campsite

For which you yearned,

They’ll find it desecrated

With bottles and cans,

Disposable diapers and rusty old pans,

With oil and gas tins,

A half rotted chair and old tent,

And they’ll want to know

Where the money was spent

And Ask,

‘Where is it NOW,

MY wilderness environment’?

Paton Lodge Lindsay

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