When I am 75-Poem
Natural disasters are common,
In this land of mine.
This is what will become when I am seventy-five.
Flooding and rising,
Has led to the destruction of lowlands and islands.
The ice caps have melted, and this is out of our hands.
Oceans span most of the globe,
Deep down beyond the blue,
Lies a wasteland, this is true.
No Amazon, to soothe our smoky lungs,
They have dried out,
No clean air, not enough to shout.
Of grass and flowers,
In their places deserts have grown,
And cities remain deserted, the birds have flown.
Flee your country, from the devastation,
In the last few lands, civilization breaks,
A time of fear is upon us, make no mistake.
The life of five degrees, is as horrible as we make it,
Just one degree and,
The end of life as we know it.
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