Nature's Enemy Smitten By Research Bard After Thomas Gray Elegy Written On A Country Churchyard Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

No Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
no lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
though plowman homeward plods his weary way,
world sinks to darkness underneath the sea.

Long lost is verdant landscape from the sight,
and all the air a solemn stillness holds,
bacteria frequent volcano vents despite
all trace of human race, lies, lies long cold.

None now raise praise to Paris' Eye Full tower,
rust dust returned, through climate change disdain,
few shadows flit, beside the moon, no flower
adorns the remnants of its ancient reign.

Below iced water world, where trees lent shade,
leaves locked in bogwood permafrost now sleep,
each in his packed trunk turf cell ever laid,
haphazardly in many an unmarked heap.

The whistling winds of semi Martian morn,
swallow all memory of tousled head,
nor clarion calls man-made disasters mourn,
nor postman's knock will thaw four poster bed.

For fauna, flora, no more sun shal turn
on food chain, photosynthesis, schooled care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
or climb his knees for parting kiss all share.

Oft double harvests garnered sickling yield,
as pipe dreams streams diverted from their source,
now, cut adrift, the climate shift concealed
high rise, low slum, beneath Jack Frost's concourse.

Greed and ambition mock man's seed, trefoil
is over, clover's destiny obscure,
mines deep or open-cast are passed, Big Oil
is hoist on its petard of spendthrift lure.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
all Natures beauty's found a watery grave,
no inter-glacial glow believes its hour
will come, for outraged Earth has ne'er forgave.

Proud, rowdy, Menn now mute impute the fault
but to yourselves, no tombs or trophies raised
remain to stain the memory of default
inethical whence catastrophic days.

Societal responsibility
was abdicated, generations doomed
by waste and haste, greed's needs, now history,
once seemed gold gleams, in snow storms worm-entombed.

Nor storied urn, nor animated bust,
back to past mansion call time fleeting breath,
Men chose foreclosure's woes, refused to trust
climactic warnings heralding Life's death.

Perhaps some seed on one far planet laid
may catalyze zoon soon with pregnant fire
to sire rebirth of fern and plantigrade
awake to ecstasy an alien sire.

But Knowledge to our minds has come too late
to fill an ample page for spoil-sport Time
swiped Columbine, wiped poor Pierrot's slate:
Chill Penury's all that remains of rhyme.

The genial current of all souls has froze,
both creeds and kings together lie forgotten,
no other name adorns an absent rose,
whose thorns, stems, buds and blooms ask why they're rotten.

Full many Mother Nature's gems serene
the dark unfathom'd ocean trenches strew,
full many a species is no longer seen
has played out part, hearts prey, tsunami stew

Statistics show mad c[r]ow[d]s were led astray
ignobly by those who fell to Time's knife,
who thought the greedy tenor of their way
would last their lifespan, and hand children life.

Their plots fell flat, nor circumstance alone,
but climate change their heinous crimes confined,
condemned to whither as world floods struck home
and hearth, no path now knows the human mind.

None struggling pangs of conscious truth now hide
nor quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
for human luck's chance dance ran out, its pride
insensed Nature took toll, tumor's tumult tamed.