The tiny grains of sand,
dropping down from
the top glass bulb
to
the
one
on
the
bottom, fall quickly.
The time we have
to resolve our
O,
so
sad
&
dire
predicament has a
brevity like a mere hour.
We cannot dawdle.
Time
is
run-
-ning
out.
If we don’t save our Earth,
there will be no more trees,
or creatures, people, or seas.
Our
orb
will
be
no
more. Man will be dust.
Cities will be ashen, and
all life will fall to the dark dirt.
Green and blue will turn to grey.
When our
time here is up,
our home will be but
a bland, brown hill of sand.
Infinite Ocean 