With stick thin legs and bellies swollen,
they remembered their playing in grass,
hide and seek around trees and cattle
beside the flowing watery tracks of
the recent rain; that washed the earth
and egged on the good, growing grain.
Rain still falls on someone else’s land,
in a place where fridges are full and
children are found to be fat, but still
they burn the death ridden fuels to
enable them to career around in cars,
that don’t seem to make them happy.
They frown and furrow their brows as
they eat their fill taking the food from
the mouths through hogging their own
ways. While out in a land somewhere
climate change is killing small children
and the cattle rot on the sandy desert.