Dear sister, dear brother, tell me if it is too late, if hope used its last chance, if we have become deaf, if the world is so mute tha can't scream its protest, tell me that we have one more little chance...

You will fin them in the vast expanses
of the bluest of them all, our skies,
where flying are the whitest clouds
and from all sunsets the red stripes.

Our eagle, because we didn’t cared
pushed to extinction she almost died,
like they are doing to our America,
pounding, pounding, until she cracks.

Already the bison is gone forever,
and so are a million of mustangs,
polluted rivers, no drinkable water,
Native Americans gone by genocide.

The enormous forest for its timber
by greed were cut down one by one,
and the prairie didn’t fare much better,
they came with their stripping mines.

The last frontier will be the air up there,
so thick than even the eagles can’t fly,
we will be caressing its dead feathers
before we too…lie down and die.