Archive
09/23/10 - (1)
Our Fantasy
Across Lake Nebagamon, bordering its shore, This wet, gray Thursday, The maples' scarlets, tangerines, plums, yellows, and greens Yet radiate yesterday's sun, last evening's moon-spell. I can tell, by the way they refuse to be subdued by the gloom.
As for me, I don't have quite the dignity of trees and leaves. I'm of a selfish species, One used to manipulating reality, to fit its attitudes and moods. I guess you could say we've been spoiled By our aptitude for glutting our cupidity for creature comforts.
Sometimes, I wonder if our expectations, our exploitations Don't sunder nature to such a numbing degree That even its very reason for being seems a fantasy And that were it to vanish into our thinning air, Nothing would be impaired and we'd thrive on concrete and steel.
09/23/10 - (1)
|
|||
|
|||
