There was a time when winters here were cold When snow and ice bit deep into the bone And frosted windows met us, rising, every morn When icy pavements meant we slipped and slid along. There was a time when summers were so warm The sun shone bright between the clouds And heat rose humid from the fields, Bright with wildflowers, buzzing insects And the heady scents of earth and farm. But then came now, and now it should be winter But the February temperature tells me no, For I feel the heat rise across both town and country See a clear blue unremitting glare upon the water And the butterflies awake and flit and start But it is winter or is winter summer now? For this thing called climate change has confused us all.
It hangs as a ball in an azure sky Bobbing in an ocean of blue ether, Buoyed on pink candy-floss clouds: And as the sun sets on the darkening Globe below, the all-seeing moon Stares at the world which bore it, And thinks that Mother Earth Is burning like a sun, suffering From the heat of its diurnal rival And melting into barrenness From the excesses of a deadly Parasite: Man. And if it could cry it would and Drown the fires with tears of sorrow; It would scream to eternity Of life wasted and for its loss. It would blow cooling breath on the deserts and poles And scratch out The infestation, Which is killing Its mother.
When I began to write this poem, I began to write about the beauty in the sky but my feelings about the raging fires in California; encroaching deserts and warming poles are so intense I began to personify the moon and feel its loss as though we are killing its mother.