You must not drink the water,
or go out after dark.
And when the ocean rises,
you'll have to build an ark.
You'll need a respirator;
you cannot breathe the air.
Put on your mirrored helmet,
so you don't burn your hair.
Beware of storm and lightning;
black snow will fall in May.
Then we can tell the children,
how things were yesterday.
The hills were rich and wooded,
with bird and butterfly,
but when the acid rain falls,
then living things must die.
But we won't fear the future;
we'll all be dead as well.
We will not hear the cursing,
at those who made their hell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It reminds me a little bit of A Whisper of Horses by Zillah Bethel.