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Poem

A dreary sun shoots its milk-warm and colorless sun rays that
in this jovial season should be harmonious and radiant;
raves themselves are wearing the funeral dress...
they croak, lament, and cringe at ghostly shadows
that set a murky stage toward early sunset...
shouldn't everyone raise their melancholic chant?

If gold lures avid seekers so does our luminescent sun
which slowly crosses unobserved the Euclidean space
through serene skies or even through tempestuous ones; 
believer or non-believer, its crossing affects lives that abase: 
while the preacher prays, and the astronomer discovers 
galaxies outside our universe and asks the question twice...
we'll be leading a hard existence indulging in occasional fun!

The macabre fluctuating elms scare away the crickets
and the glowing owls from their posts chosen for quietness;
infuriated are the Green-winged teals who flew miles
from the snowy North to find the warmest nests...
they gather closer and defy the menacing winds!
Little they understand that who is responsible is Man himself
whose greed has devastated forests with fires causing death!

Ghostly shadows set a murky stage,
who dares to act portrays courage;
the villains watch, they don't applaud...
doom is a hated word, a demise not contemplated.
Greta, a remarkable advocate, makes her entrance;
her voice echoes and they are hushed by silence:
" Our planet is dying, so will you people of little concern; 
thinking I came here not to speak about danger and afflict scorn:
before a disaster occurs, take appropriate action
to save yourselves and this planet which is in imminent extinction! "

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