So when we shoot past two degrees

and all the land is toast

and skies are black from the burning trees

what will you miss the most?

 

Me, I’ll miss the song of birds

that welcomed in the day:

those heart-rending, incoherent words

that had so much to say.

 

And when the heating of the ocean

flays the coral reefs,

will you temper your emotion?

Modulate your grief?

 

Like fuck I will!  It’s not just warming

but plummeting pH:

phytoplankton shells not forming,

starved of carbonates.

 

And when there’s famines every year 

and billions forced to roam,

will you house the helpless here

or tell them “Go back home!”?

 

My inclination’s to believe 

such words won’t shame my voice.

We’ll cut the carbon, not the love.

Let no one face that choice!

 

And when they tell you “Stop this fight,

you’re making too much fuss,

the planet’s going to be alright -

just leave it up to us.”?

 

I’ll calmly say the facts are clear,

and then I’ll blow my top.

Trust the fools that got us here? 

I’ll fight until I drop!