Friday, 3 February 2023

Forests of Doom

A muster of trees,  strong in their talk
they hug one another closely 
Holding fast at the stalk
growing tall,  leaning back, outward and keen
an argument, they have thwart, or so it would seem

Clearing leaves in the winter 
the wind it doth’ blow 
a little woodpecker is making her hole 
a large Douglas fir, keeping distantly lone
he steadies his feet with nuts on a cone

Wild winter passes, the kings bows are strong
everything is fine until them people come along
Hacking down forests, killing the young
making a clearing the grumble has gone
trees stop talking, sadness has come
For everyone knows, there’s no strength; in one

the future looks bleak, man does not learn
kill all the forests with peril they’ll learn
a breath of the cold in the darkness of night
the only air left, if not willing to fight
city’s of finance, toxicity in its girth 
no trees to fell, no life left on earth.


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