THE CHOICE
In autumn the golden willow weeps
While saffron leaves still cling to the beech.
In a lengthening line we’ve come to stand
For the water of life in an arid land.
As wildfires rage in southern climes
As aquifers shrink, as wells go dry
We hold our protest signs up high.
Cars honk approval as they go by.
It’s oil or water: they do not mix.
In the end the choice comes down to this:
We’ll keep the petrol in the ground
Or life on earth will no longer be found.
This morning black ice, a dusting of white
Remind us of winter’s implacable might.
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