Life In The Raw Poem by Mary Champion

Mother Nature is not gentle,
no ethics guide her hand.
If something works she runs with it -
won't stoop to understand

that living forms she blindly birthed
can feel both pain and fear.
She blithely rides the storm-tossed deep,
is not equipped to hear

the screams of those in sore distress
and even if she were,
she lacks the heart to empathise.
There is no soul to stir.

The careless wheel of life rolls on,
its forms can only thrive
by taking in a brother form
to keep themselves alive.

For even herbivores must kill,
devour the gentle plants
that eat the sunlight where it falls,
evolved through aimless chance.

This jungle red, in tooth and claw,
whose ageless roots run deep,
feels no remorse and no regret
and only Man doth weep.