An Ecologist Plea

All night in woeful tones From some wilderness in a tree A bird in solitude groans With days outrageous memory It's spring, O, O, it's spring But the invisible bird little cares Ice is in its heart, the wing Of starry skies is ever unawares No mating call is pain So deep, no purposeless distress Perhaps the birds complain Ask to save sole habitat and nest The cries is to creatures all Against man's need to destroy and posesses Each day the oak trees fall Blinds us blundering into cold barreness. Nature is a living thing An organic part of us. The little bird Sings, broken in heart and wing An elegy for tomorrow here interred.