Will we see the balance tip one morning of no sun?
Or will it come a night of no stars?
Will we hear the silence of no birds
in the flowerless fields of no bees?
Will we tell these children the magic is all dead,
the warm sun, soft rain, elephants and polar bears all gone,
beauty squandered, wasted leaving none for them?
Will we even dare?
Or will we stick more glitter on our eyes
drink more lies from the fountain of no truth
and set out feet upon the path of no return?