Stewardship Of The Earth Poem by James Mullaney

When there's a golden glow in my garden
like September's version of snow, I seek
God's solace there. This Forest of Arden
veils, cloisterwise, a humble heart and meek.
But there are Trickster-gods who govern us
who want to make of our environment
Sheol, the rapture of an incubus,
the Styx, a dirge, a malevolent Lent,
the earth, smote, smoke and ash. It only stops
when Mary's voice descends, in plain English,
like wings of cherubs thrashing the treetops:
'Shh...Everything's fine.' So. This is her wish:
that we find in hers a sufficient grace,
but haste to green the globe's forestial face.