The seasons south west
Are predictably reliable
When it's winter, it is as cold to behold
The east coasts' persisting twisters
Or the northern snows and lights
But our summers are best
In California at night

Spring has blown in
This seventeenth year, two thousand
And the weather has turned
Cruel the natives fear climactic
Warmer burns the sun
Overcrowding natural wellsprings
Truth deflecting beach volleyball fun

I think we're almost done...

(And I have yet to experience
The joy of creation
By the earth I stand on
By traveling some)

And the universe must be balanced
I fear that justice must do harm
To rectify our crimes
Lo and behold...
What wicked this way comes
Our times
Wasted to have undone...