THE MOTHER’S LEGACY : a short poem on environmental and spiritual matters

 Gaia, the hostess of our time, cries to human hearts.

Her song is melodic, proving beyond the sum of its parts. 

All must hear Her tale. 

Ere human destiny proves to fail. 

Lest in epicurean greed we raze Her body to ash. 

And naught may be left but cinder and our cash.

Ere the sons and daughters of man wake up.

With naught of Her fertile gifts left to sup. 

The day does approach when Her wisdom may be lost.

A dire quest forms, with it this terrible cost. 

The path forward obscures with pain.

For we all must unite what little does remain. 

Hear Her song now and again.

Close the eyes and frolic in Her den. 

Feel Her caress and the noise of the leaves.

Know not sorrow or the pain that may bereave. 

Travel along Her mighty shores, woodlands, and valleys.

Consider this strength woven into these legendary alleys.

 Breathe the fresh air of renewal, and remove the soles.

Enter a state of clarity, one that we all may extol. 

Gaia, the hostess of our time, speaks to us all.

Late comes the hour, without Her, we shall fall.