There they stood with their thousands of roses, gathered in Youngstorget marketplace, it was moving, and yet we should gather as all nations, united nations, and sing of our sorrow at destroying nature.

The United Nations should have a day and sing of our world.
and our massacre of nature;.
stop using our cars unnecessarily,
stop throwing rubbish into nature – making atomic rubbish-rubbish in space-
stop using oil and gas.
stop producing so many clothes-we have enough to cover us!
stop producing only for profit unhealthy things.

stop so many things that the list is possibly unending.

"Barn av regnbuen" Lillebjorn Nilsen's translation of Pete Seeger's song: "My Rainbow Race".
Lillebjorn Nilsen led the crowd of many thousands of Norwegians, children and adults, the police wondered whether anything would take place, but all went with calm peacefully, as the people went slowly to the court, where the trial is taking place, and lay their roses outside it.

The idea of Norway is just as silly as the idea of any other area of this globe, if you read Hans Borli's poem:-

We Own the Forests.

I have never owned a tree.
None of my people.
have ever owned a tree -
though my family's life-path winds.
over centuries' blue heights.
of forest.

Forest in storm,
forest in calm -
forest, forest, forest,
through all the years.

My people
were always a poor people.
Always.
Children of life's.
hard, iron-frosted nights.

Strangers own the trees,
and the soil,

the stone-heaped soil.
my fathers cleared.
by the light of the moon's lamp.

Strangers
with smooth faces.
and pretty hands.
and their car always waiting.
outside the door.

None of my people.
have ever owned a tree.
And yet we own the forests.
by our blood's red right.

Rich man,
you with the car and the bank book.
and stock in Borregaard timber company;.
you can buy a thousand acres of forest,
and a thousand acres more,
but you can't buy the sunset.
or the whisper of the wind.
or the joy of walking homeward.
when the heather blooms along the path -
No, we own the forests,
the way a child owns its mother.

We cannot own nature or even areas of nature and all we do when we do is exploit her and the people who live there already.

"BLIND VISIONS"

Blind visions guide the imbecile,
his notes a garbled rhyme,
like many stones that argue, on the bed.
of the great sea.
of books, ideas and symbols,
from when man on earth was free.

to now
when all is jumbled in a great big muddled sack,
from which the youth of ages.
has tried to win his freedom back,
this madman follows patterns.
of thought from long ago,
when man was much more primitive,
and really didn't know.

of all the fine philosophies.
that present poeple understand,
on the world wide web of wonder.
that reaches out to all,
to watch and learn the values.
man has gleaned of human grace.
and worth, a right we have to live a life.
to death from birth,
on this our planet Earth.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 26th April 2012.