The Stuff That I Pen

The stuff that I pen I could not hope to sell And here's for posterity one more doggerel The migratory waders long gone north to breed And the thistles of Autumn have matured to seed We should learn from life the wise are known to say But some do not grow wiser they just grow old and gray The stench of pollution one can smell every day And where greed is prevalent there is also decay For financial gain we abuse our environment and for that we must pay And Nature will punish us in her own way Respect for our Earth Mother we do not show And so little of Nature's ways we seem to know And though I am three decades now past my life's prime I'm just one of billions who must bow to time.