Summer is a witness
In the earth
In the sky
Was there ever
A summer
Before today
How can you
Be sure
That the summer
Ever existed before
Why does the wood
Produce only leaves?
Why does the wood
Produce only woody fruit?
Why does the wood
Look so beautiful in summer
And so corpse like in winter?
Why does the wood
Produce just enough to feed the birds?
Why does the wood
Quibble with man?
Why does the winter
Shut it all down?
What’s to stop you
From turning blossom into fruit
Why are you waiting
Money has gone mad
It is the plastic
That destroys the earth
Scoop up some soil
In the palm of your hand
And plant a seed
A palm full of soil
Isn’t that wonderful?
The wild grapes
Are under pressure
Little voices
Inside each one
Cries help
If the rain
Comes early
They are glad
In a future sky
There is a crushing
There are baskets
Filled with red
Mourn them now
Tell them
You’re sorry
Tell them
It’s not too late
