My favorite pastime has become the imaginary destruction of flowers.
This, while experiencing the unstoppable construction of your towers,
gives life to a Mighty Fury armed with Mother Nature's powers.
She takes gifts as wonderfully as She gives - yours, mine...ours.
A hurricane surrounds your concrete palace leaving shambles in its wake
and your highways crumble in the echo of Her laughing, splitting quake.
Volcanos roar, glowing warmly and echo their approval of vengeance made
against these intruders trampling uninvited to Mother Nature's space.
So as the world wilts, humanity pauses, pleads forgiveness and cowers;
seeking reprieve and shelter from their own chemically induced showers;
knowing that their damage can not be undone in years let alone hours;
vowing to defend the honor of all things beautiful: yours, mine...ours.
The first line of this poem is borrowed from Norman Dubie.
You give a powerful meaning to the line. And a powerful call for action.
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