The Eleventh Hour 

Picture in the mind’s eye a stately grandfather clock, handmade of wood

Standing in the clearing of where majestic trees once stood

While its pendulum swings steadily to-and-fro

The clock keeps the count in the environmental all talk no-go show

The war in the woods goes on year after year

Showing little to no regard for the old forest dear

Big Lonely Doug left standing tall, sorrowfully but dutifully looks on

Having become a testament to the old growths fallen dawn

There has yet to be a fully harmonious burst of morning light

That floods upon the ancient trees in their continued plight

The mourning doves circling the grey skies above

Sing out broken hearted coos of love

Their love of forest innately strong and true

They fly high in the sky where once the jade-colored crowns grew and grew

With the crowns chopped down what’s left lying in place

Are the scars of a grotesquely brutalized green space

The grandfather clock is reminder once more,

Of the urgent scene unfolding on the sacred forest floor

The ecosystems are at stake brought on solely by the ravaging for monetary sake

With the gravity of the situation at hand

The chimes hauntingly ring out in the forest heartland

Wisdom with agile grace can create a space for the restoration of trust

At the stroke of midnight, it becomes a must

Tick Tock – Tick Tock – Tick Tock

I’m a Delta, BC resident who writes poetry as a way to explore and understand myself and the wider world. My love of trees, the environment, poetry and the written word continue to inspire me.

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