Folly of Man

The animals live as they

are adapted to live, but never more.

They are primitive. Without free thought,

without art and culture,

without clothing. The trees give shade

and shelter to the animals

that know not of walls and ceilings.

The trees support life as

the lands' tireless lungs and most benevolent

charity.

The people are masters

of intellect. The pinnacle of biology

can travel through space and

defeat cancers. The people who conquer,

who make breakthroughs and

inspire revolutions,

finding strength each night for each

day in the comfort,

security, warmth, and illumination of their home.

The people conquer forests, even,

yet we cannot

overcome the sweet

cruelty of convenience.

We outgrow our environment.

Deforestation perpetuates. A mother fox cries

and a bird pauses its dance because

her home has fallen.

The new clearing is not vacant for long.

Foundations are laid out. Machinery aches are echoing.

The people once more can live

with convenience.

They plant new trees and they rescue

animals.

Ego of man hesitates. Hindsight can be heard chuckling.

Masters of intellect. Conquerers of forests.

The ecosystem has been disassembled and reconstructed into

something

less beautiful and less charitable.

A garden is growing

and a farm is lively too. How great it is to have

such an abundance

of plants and animals on the 

property. How great to live so close

to the forgiving forest.

 

 

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This poem is about: 
Our world

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