Long after Wordsworth lay down in his grave,
gave up his world to the worms and moist earth
for an eternal lament, the world is no longer with us.
Nature has been sold to the pipeline
as though the Christ will hang from his cross
even when earth falls into its fiery core.
Too many innocent burned at the stake
tortured in schools, broken in factories
where the economy is managed by hyenas
using whips and lies.
We are not the world any more but talking ants
stripping leaves, melting ice with fire
turning the verdant forests into desert.
