Our Bequest

To our children this is our bequest;
this land from which we’ve torn the best.
Be grateful for what you now receive;
do not look at this mess and grieve
For we don’t know the meaning of care
and so we’ve left the cupboard bare.

We stole the food from Gaia’s plate;
your very future we then ate.
There is no word that can come near
to describe our acts of depravity clear.
Each of us knew just what we were;
we lived like kings – ‘right’ we did blur.
We grew fat as Gaia grew thin;
we laughed at those who saw our sin.

Do I see the world through jaundiced eyes
or is it that I see through the lies
that sprout forth into air so free
nestling in places they should not be.
Cynicism I know is true;
it shades my eyes when I look at you
for humanity, the constant curse;
we did it all, then we did worse.

About a foolhardy florilegium

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

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