In a silver valley,
Under purple skies,
Where stars hang in the air,
Like immobile fireflies,
-
An umber stag bows his head
To taste the dewy grass
And draws back with much displeasure,
For the weed has turned to gas.
-
Woozy and befuddled,
He squints through all the brume
To find the vegetation
Has all but been consumed.
-
Mist clouds his beady eyes
As he stumbles all around
And with a draw of toxic air,
The stag crumbles to the ground.
-
But in this silver valley,
Where the skies cloud with debris,
Where stars refuse to twinkle
For their corrosive enemy,
-
All life has yet to perish
‘Cause through the haze emerge
Several erect figures,
Each inarguably a scourge.
-
They jab the stag’s thick carcass,
Seemingly impassive;
Thoughtless of the devastation
They’ve caused, however massive.
-
And then these men construct,
For their insatiable greed,
Strip malls, highways, theatres,
Forcing nature to concede.
-
In a once silver valley,
Victim of pitch and plunder,
A stag's head hangs upon a wall
To watch his world be torn asunder.