Fevered Pitch - Poem by G.R. Gaus
How warm, must the surface rise?
Before humans finally understand,
As rusty clouds, hang in the skies,
Destiny calls; to a no man's land.
Most of us like to point the finger,
Pass the blame, on who's at fault,
The longer we wait, talk and linger,
More damage, won't come to a halt.
Once an idea is set in motion,
Production and companies thrive,
Along the rivers, into the ocean,
Marine life, struggles to survive.
Pay the fine, and continue to dump,
No matter, the environment's cost,
Methane and oil, proceed to pump,
Delicate resources; forever lost.
When will it become, far too late?
That moment, we cross the line,
All of God's people, lie still in wait,
Until the diagnosis, becomes, benign.
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