The Forests Ran Away
a sonnet about climate change
Those futile warnings bled from every page:
“The tree unfurls its vivid leaves, except--
The yellow grasses dance and then are razed--
The ocean churns its mighty waves, unless—”
The sky holds nothing now but graying haze
The sun will set and rise on cue, but
The ones who saw its fire growing ran
Forlorn, the craggy barren branches jut
And still some wish to plunder all they can.
When ocean beaches burn away to glass
and oil wells are dry as grasslands they
replaced—when breathing blisters, who will we
ask why on earth the forests ran away?
Those warnings early on were not a ruse,
and all the trees are gone because of you.
“The tree unfurls its vivid leaves, except--
The yellow grasses dance and then are razed--
The ocean churns its mighty waves, unless—”
The sky holds nothing now but graying haze
The sun will set and rise on cue, but
The ones who saw its fire growing ran
Forlorn, the craggy barren branches jut
And still some wish to plunder all they can.
When ocean beaches burn away to glass
and oil wells are dry as grasslands they
replaced—when breathing blisters, who will we
ask why on earth the forests ran away?
Those warnings early on were not a ruse,
and all the trees are gone because of you.