What would the elders think about their home?
Stone edifices claw the earth they’d known.
These mortar-crusted bellies are sustained
By humans living lost and self-contained.
My jaundiced leaves cry out against the wind
Yet my unheard laments instill chagrin.
The soil beneath, an arid, grimy bed,
The air surrounding, acrid fumes instead.

O, Mother, we forsaken sons desire
A Nat’ral renaissance You may inspire!
Reverse the spell upon the human mass,
And set them free from terra cotta caste.
Reveal Your pow’r; rock the very ground
The buildings claim as theirs and let resound
Their crumbling corpses shattered by your might,
And pleasing may it be within Your sight.

My prayer concludes, but still, the hellish ‘scape
encroaches with the goal of global ****.
And ‘til great Eden’s comeback I do see,
I’m powerless: a sickly city tree.