Tinkering at the edges of a planet doomed to die;
deciding that it’s all too hard – so just why should we try.
I watch another ‘Movement’ (a thing oft of the bowels)
rising to the greatest heights – “There must be change” it howls.
While still there is too little and the fear of change too deep;
“But what about our lifestyle; that’s something we must keep.”
The catch cry of a another Movement born in the middle classes,
and soon they will have ’employees’ who sit upon their arses
and pontificate ’bout how to change and their best rate of pay
while tinkering at the edges the ‘Movement’ still will play.
“We can’t do that it is too hard; we cannot ask for more”
the battle cry of many who’ve marched this path before.
And as the sun sinks in the West we all will wonder why,
somehow the protest went all wrong; the planet will now die.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
This entry was posted in Green Poetry, Life, nature, Politics. Bookmark the permalink.

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