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.
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