Our Planet

Poem By Simon Whitfield

Ancestral cradle of the human race,
Sunrise and sunset sweeping gently round
To what high cosmic melody, whose sound
Can mark the measure of her dance in space,
Enwrapped in filaments of cloudy lace.
At either axis permanently crowned
With brilliant white, in spreading oceans gowned,
Gaia, the planetary queen of grace,
No longer seen as there to be subdued
And then exploited; we are at a stage
Of history where true solicitude
Can help us to begin another page,
And leave our planet, cherished and renewed,
To a saner and more conscientious age.

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A Living Tree

We see, like crooked fingers on a hand,
The twigs and branches, bare against the sky,
A melancholy sight to meet the eye,
When winter's grip has paralysed the land,