Waste

Nature in it’s utmost, has no wont of haste. Time has little meaning, and there is no waste. One year or a million, matters not at all, everything that lives, eventually will fall. Ashes turn to ashes, and dust goes back to dust. All Flora and Fauna, are building up the crust. So death is there abetting, something else to live. Everything that breathes, some day will die to give. Yet in the few short years, man on earth has faced. Through the eyes of greed, mismanages his waste. He thinks he’s here forever, even though the rivers die, the soil is full of poison, pollution fills the sky. The earth will be a sewer, and won’t support the curse, that stole the pristine beauty, that it was meant to nurse. So nature in its wisdom, will balance without haste, and in five million years, will manage its own waste.