this is a poem I wrote an a whim a couple of weeks ago, and I just remembered it, so here goes:

I sat upon a log this day
and watched the world go by
the sun-brushed ferns, the golden hay
the dancing flowers and butterflies

yet among this glorious art display
of nature, midst it's own glory
I saw a man, in deep dismay
and asked him for his story

I'm old as time, and wiser still
yet I remain victim to man's cheap thrills,
my bones they ache as my trees are felled,
as foolish men turn earth to hell
in all my time, I've faced turmoils great
meteors, fires and ripping earthquakes
tis sad that by the hand of what I helped create
I am led towards the Gates

and he shed a tear, the frail old man,
not of water, but black like oil,
I too spent tears as he turned his back,
as Father Earth returned to the soil