I listen to the wind its screaming of change; begging
each in return who don’t count it as strange. The ice
caps melt and the level of sea rise; a voice from the
future bellows out “devise.”
What if rivers turned red and reeked of pain and blood;
by day and night through fields of wreckage, waste and
flood. Oh sour are the trees lest we mend our ways; Lo!
clothed in the shadows of fire, smoke and haze.
Hope in sombre moments had power not to gaze;
As soon with one accord raise your voice on dais.
Photo credits: www.pinterest.com
Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United