This earth

 

This earth

of tressed roots and rivers,

fish-silvered oceans,

sky, bird-woven tapestries

of celestial hues,

is the cradle of all life—

 

~it is not ours~

 

to unmake,

to sully sky and sea,

to eviscerate,

for in the unmaking is our own ending,

and when we have crushed the petals of the last rose,

who will weep for us?

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

18 thoughts on “This earth”

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