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Waist
When the world is laid waste,
And its celebrants are cinders,
And its clothes ashes;
When it is once again a dead rock,
Like the rock that encircles it,
Its dust open to the poisonous wind;
When we have wrought what we’ve wrought
And done what we’ve done,
And there is no one left to look back in sorrow or anger:
Ah, then, what a song will never be sung!
The End
For us, but hopefully not earth...anthropomorfic (phic) assumption that we will kill earth. She'll heal without us. Comedian Carlin: who knows, maybe earth created man to make plastic because she wanted some. - Brilliant writing - allets