Stopping by the world

Whose crimes these are I think I know.
Their place is in the fire below;
They will not see you shed a tear
Nor care a whit, death fast or slow.

The dying child is numb with fear
And choking as the end comes near
From breathing toxic fumes so thick,
From burning what we love so dear.

She gives the fog a wistful look
Remembering a pretty brook
That ran behind her house one day
Before the heat took it away.

The Earth was lovely, green with life,
But we cared so for things and strife,
And conquered her with greed so rife,
And conquered her with greed so rife.

Inspired by the poetry of Robert Frost.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.