Words to a Son

My son, tread softly upon this ground. It is not yours for the taking.

Tame what needs tamed. Trim what needs trimmed.

Grow what needs to be grown. Free what needs to be set free.

Step with delight on the lush green grass. Stand in awe among the proud mighty oaks. Kneel in humility on the white sand. Weep at the sound of the crashing waves on the mighty sea.

Men will say this land is yours. Yours to control. To seize and hold on with white knuckles. These men have not seen the light, they have no understanding. They believe in their own power.

Turn your ear away from their words. Guard your heart against their lies.

For this land is not yours. Nor is it mine. It is no one’s. This land was here before you, before me, before man became a significant speck in a massive universe.

It does not need your permission, your stamp of approval. It laughs at the very idea.

This land, this beauty, is for all. To be shared, cherished, and revered. Take care of her my son. Protect her from harm.

For this land, this broken beautiful land, is the only one we have.

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