The Stuff That I Pen Poem by Francis Duggan

The stuff that I pen I could not hope to sell
And here's for posterity one more doggerel
The migratory waders long gone north to breed
And the thistles of Autumn have matured to seed
We should learn from life the wise are known to say
But some do not grow wiser they just grow old and gray
The stench of pollution one can smell every day
And where greed is prevalent there is also decay
For financial gain we abuse our environment and for that we must pay
And Nature will punish us in her own way
Respect for our Earth Mother we do not show
And so little of Nature's ways we seem to know
And though I am three decades now past my life's prime
I'm just one of billions who must bow to time.