Climate

Here is a poem I wrote on an eco-holiday a couple of years ago, I wrote it looking over an ancient woodland in a valley in Snowdonia, hopefully it illustrates what could happen if we do not act.


Climate

I stand alone in lonely lands,
Clasping a crag with crooked hands,
Perched on a rock for all to see,
With flies abuzzing by my knee.

From this rock the world I can see,
Though the world cannot see me,
Past by me flow oaks,
From sky to sea,
Past my rock, from which I see.

Up on this rock , in this land,
It strikes me the beauty I that I see,
From Scraggy mountain top to azure sea.

From this rock upon which I dwell,
I cast my eyes to the oaks that surround me,
Their wise, firm trunks bursting from the earth,
Their hand like branches reaching to the sky.

And if these wise old trees,
Stretching from sky to sea,
Could speak to me,
They may sing a requiem not a eulogy.

For in times to come,
Man, with his crooked hands,
May have turned this Eden into a hell.