We’d cool air, tall trees, the canopy scattering sun
On emerald moss; a woodland walk, that day’s delight
As an undertow of future grief flows on.
An enchanting place – but it may soon be gone,
Scorched or drowned, as politicians fight:
No cool air, tall trees, nor canopy scattering sun.
A happy day we’d had; and there are more to come,
But always aware of our earth’s climate plight.
So an undertow of future grief flows on.
The complex web of woodland’s finely spun
By beetles, lichens, leaves and birds in flight.
Thus, cool air, tall trees, a canopy scattering sun.
We’d fallen trunks of trees to rest upon,
While swirling clouds of insects caught the light,
And an undertow of future grief flowed on.
Has a juggernaut of mindless power now won?
With its self-regarding plans and blinkered sight?
As an undertow of future grief flows on
Through cool air, tall trees, the canopies scattering sun.