Life's river, it would seem, has flowed too far

And on the bar, thrown up in wild excess

A mess that, once 'a life', now moribund,

Contrived a fund of folly unrestrained,

That earthly rivers, drained of fulsome flow,

Brought fertile lands to dust, where naught will grow.

 

It fell to man, this archetype to maim;

To claim the rivers his, to have and hold;

To make so bold that life's sweet waters flow

That he might grow his blasphemy of yield

In irrigated field 'neath dam's affront,

Whilst 'selling' those down-stream, to bear the brunt.

 

As oceans rise great rivers shrink and die,

Their delta's dry, fertility quite flown.

Mans numbers grown, incongruous, a blight,

Self-harming plight but-dimly understood.

The greater good known only to the wise,

Usurped by Cleverness - a sweeter prize.

 

Fresh water now comes only from on high

A saturated sky, quite unconstrained.

Where once it rained, now double-deluge drops

And - parodoxic - crops, are laid to waste.

Repent in haste, Mankind, your hour is nigh;

Though sins shall bide unwashed - it's time to die.