Good guys never destroy;
it’s simply, not in their nature.
Good guys are preservationists;
you won’t find them in governments;
they never aspire to control anyone.
They give till it hurts and then, give more;
they often fade into eternity;
unknowns and much loved by everyone.
Good guys don’t care about money, fame or power;
they love, and that’s more than enough for them.
Good guys are angels in a mortal shell;
few and far between; they live, too finite lives.
When you meet a good guy; you hold favor with God.
The source blesses lives, with good guys;
the teachers to whom few seem,
to listen to or learn from.
It’s the ultimate gift to know a
good guy.
Categories:
preservationists, angel, giving, hero,
Form: Prose
The spotted owl is a small thing,
A bit of flesh upon the wing,
Yet lawyers argue of its worth
With words that echo o'er the earth.
Loggers count the good jobs lost,
Saying astronomical the cost
Of saving forests for this bird,
That preservation arguments are absurd.
This insignificant, dark brown fowl,
The one we call the spotted owl,
Inhabits forests of the Northwest,
Where loggers consider him a pest.
The preservationists are just as loud,
As any of the timber crowd.
"If the owl is lost, " they loudly cry,
"The fragile eco-system will also die,
Following that the forests too.
Then what will the timber companies do?"
In a short time, it will be too late,
Two-thousand pairs, the estimate.
What gives mankind the right to say
What species lives, which goes away?
Just like a row of dominos,
When the first one falls, another goes.
Categories:
preservationists, confusion,
Form: Rhyme