She slips through the trees she calls home,
and gathering, her kin hear of far off shores
and stores of chocolates and fine clothes.
They hear of children calling for a future
and the adults who listen not. They lament
with solemnity the proclivity of the adults
unphased by the climate disaster. And a
love of carbon fuels that duels with the
way that the young and the already
drowning protest, named pests by the
carbon killing, jet loving, coal digging
fools. Together they touch their trees,
their homes and grieve for their losses.
