Mining My Clathrates Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

The sea is angry today,
The white caps try to carry the wrath away.
The onshore wind whips up the tide,
Those braving the blast go soon inside.

The ocean knows of the wish of men,
To cheat the sea and deceive again.
They’ve taken the fish and drilled for oil,
Now they want the gas from Nature’s toil.

The gas clathrates form at cold waters upwards seep,
Capture the methane leaking from the Deep.
The vessels dredge the icy cages on each of their trips,
And dump the burning snowballs on the decks of ships.

Now we can mine Natures gas, don’t worry about supply,
Ignore the Kyoto Protocoll, burn all to the sky.
We’ve extended the reservoir from forty to sixty years,
Enough oil and gas to burn without any cares.

Why worry about the worlds next generation?
The world should toil for the sake of one nation.
What if it’s all gone, why make this fuss?
All that matters is enough for us.