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
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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.