It was beautiful, the newly shooting buds of ancient trees,
those toppled by the terrible storms defiantly greening,
At our feet the carpet of pungent garlic holding its buds
as precious gifts to a foraging folk and here and there
stars of anemones shining in the dim lit ancient path.
We trod on round the scars of fallen rocks, glimpsing
blue sky and rolling waves as they washed the shore,
relentlessly cleaning the rocks and sand, filling small
coves with tiny shrimps, and cockle shells for the
sustenance of the crying gulls and scuttling crabs.
We rounded the corner and felt the cold wind of
death. All around blackened, tortured branches
crumbled into the blackened earth where the tiny
bodies of creatures lay cremated by human hands,
who’ve abused and raped this gentle, gracious land.
Broken by the sight, smell and disgust for our race,
teary eyes took in the acres of what should be golden
tipped gorse, bluebells coming, and a place where
bees would buzz and butterflies dance. But their
hiddenness in this brutal affair cost them their lives.
The stench remained with us as we finally passed
into green and gentle slopes laying atop the cliffs,
called us to pray for Ukraine and others. There, a
beautious land has been stripped and burned. Both
their fruitful futures killed by callousness and greed.
The smoke still hung in the air as we silently pass,
the grim reminder of the disregard for living things.
The blackened soil lives in in our dreams, haunting
our thoughts recalling us to reality that some care
not for creatures, nor climate change carbon stoked