I am but a machine,
No heart or thoughts of my own,
Fearing not the howling of night,
Dearing not the chirping of morning,
Unlike the humans who birthed my being.

By the stroke of their hand,
I burn the land that made me,
By their will and command,
I have turned green ito grey
Furrowing squares upon her skin,
Reducing her voice to mere whisper.

I am but a machine,
No will or mind of my own,
Hearing not the gushes of wind,
Feeling not the rushing of current,
Compared to the mountain, I am nothing.