Beneath the shroud of smoke and haze,
The city sighs in muted tones;
A symphony of silent days,
Where nature weeps and beauty groans.

The rivers once a lively stream,
Now murmur tales of lost delight;
Their waters clouded, lost their gleam,
Beneath the pall of endless night.

The birds no longer sing their song,
Their voices drowned in clamor loud;
As towers rise where trees belong,
And skies are choked with smoggy shroud.

Yet hope still breathes in whispered leaves,
A promise of a brighter dawn;
If we, the stewards, dare believe,
And mend the world we’ve drawn upon.