amazonia

Destroying rainforest for economic gain is like burning a
Renaissance painting to cook a meal.—O. Wilson
 
when we felled her trees en mass
the earth waxed dry and barren
a mother without child
although her breasts were full of milk
then we groaned like tinkling brass
our tongues turned strange and foreign
as echoes from the wild
whose songs were of the lowest ilk
 
when we stilled her rippling stream
thirsts found no joy of quenching
a fire sieged the soul
whose flames consumed the quick and dead    
things are not the way they seem
no lounging or back-benching
can fix a kinder goal
must we not rise tho oft we’ve bled!
 
must we watch our children pay—
whose future now we mortgage
for our convenient tastes—
the price for paradise estranged
while their cries our deaf ears slay
our choices plot their bondage
our amazon we waste
unless our carbon footprints change
 
tho our hands the prophets kill
we cannot break or silence
the wisdom of their lips
like gleaming swords that slay our pride
tho our rapes green pastures spill
by love’s robust compliance
the dew of mercy drips
where otherwise all hope had died
 
© Copyright 2019 November 15
by Clyve A. Bowen♫