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Rain
It rains on the redwood
that cover the mountain
The bark of them glistens
and darkens upon them.
I know the rain gladdens
The heart of the redwood
their branches all burdened
with numberless gems.
But what would they think, now,
these trees, if they knew
that the water they drink
was a poisonous brew
and the drops that accrue
to the needles and cling
were soon to undo them
and earthward-ward bring?
Oh, the forests are whispering
over all the vast land
'We are poisoned, O brothers
by poisonous hands.
Our children are sickened
and the last of our race
are pelted with sulphur
and poisoned apace.
So be mindful, O People
that the earth is an only
descended from father
to progeny born
and cannot be jetted
like the rind of an orange
like the hull of an acorn
for lack of a plan.
So, are...
poem
by
Morgan Michaels
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