Fate's Watershed Awaits Ahead Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

I who was king, taught all to sing, when Greenland still was green,
scoff at the way most homage pay today to progress crowned.
Fat profit's ring, its scorpion sting shall strike, spike anguish keen,
oh lack a day! Man's lost his way, with motives so unsound.
I who foresaw from shore to shore how wonderlust would mean
no stone unturned, deserved, ill earned, in search of mirage dreams
when rotten core exploits the poor, when little in between
extremes is learned, with justice spurned and bridges burned it seems.

I who remain in etching plain, on bone forever set
call all to see that history for vengeance cries aloud.
Fate's watershed awaits ahead to help this world forget
that man once walked, at nothing balked, to stand out from the crowd,
exploiting earth throughout its girth, ambitions daily whet
by hubris swank and reasons rank, by ways in which rank proud
sought to oppress, yet nonetheless Time, grinning, will not let
poor jokes to last, and very fast shall flood man's pride low bowed.