Cold Jack, content and job well done, creeps home,
Allowing Spring her turn to warm the earth.
Crocus tongues push out through softening loam
As glass-eyed shepherds watch their flock give birth.
We, unplucked youth, prime cocked with urgent sap,
Feel the tug of Nature’s call to breed.
Like sheep, we follow Her bewitching map
To plant, in fertile earth, our febrile seed.
Yet somewhere Nature’s diverse scheme is lost;
Our black-fuelled lust sears seasons into one.
Our greed neuters Jack; he’s become a ghost,
Sharp fingers culled by a remorseless sun.
Why should our lambs breed, after this breach of trust?
We’ve fried this once green Earth, turning it to dust.
This gloomy look at our future, in the light of climate change came back to me seeing the latest #writephoto prompt

A brilliant, if tragic, sonnet, Geoff.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Sue. If only it was fantasy…
LikeLike
The earth has her own seasons…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow! I love your sonnet. It is a warning, though.
LikeLiked by 1 person
If only we would pay a bit more attention to the evidence. It’s amazing what we can do when we put our minds to it.
LikeLike
I agree with Sue Geoff this is epic 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much…
LikeLike
A pleasure 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
So lyrical, Geoff
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was just reading about the massive Sahara dust storm now darkening the skies of the south. And the heat wave in the Siberia. Oh yeah, none of it good.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And all self inflicted… grrr
LikeLike
This is brilliant, Geoff, beautiful and poignant, a celebration and a diatribe in one. Every word is perfect.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks George!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: The Last Water ~ Geoff Le Pard #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo
Pingback: Photo prompt round-up: Silver #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo