The Steps

The white clouds come, they
come like vast cotton-wool,
come to smother the sky

what do you have to say
to me, red pines?  with
your golden plumes?  the
red squirrels are away -
surely you can speak?

what do you say, clematis,
I have roped you to a line:
grow there

the deer's antlers
nailed to the shed: a
symbol of our killing hands:
a billion bled, stacked
in piles no-one wanted
to look at

why are we so great
we humans, inhumane
to all around us and to 
one another - why would we
father children to
inherit such waste, such
populace in poverty of
mind, body and spirit?

the world has had enough
of us and it will turn
to our ruin, and I
for one
won't mourn the death
of our race

with our selfishness
and our prejudice
with our hate and our
blind eyes: look:

the blue skies, the trees,
the birds, let us till the
garden and remember the
steps that brought us here

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