Endlings

By Peter Harris

There once was a colourful bird

Who lived in the rainforest high,

She sang to the sun and the silver moon,

Her colours a spark in the sky.

But the trees crashed down with a thunderous sound,

And her song was a last goodbye.

There once was a cute little field mouse,

Who scurried through grasses so tall,

She nibbled on seeds in the warm spring breeze,

And built her a nest in the fall.

But the grass gave way to concrete and clay,

And her world grew no space at all.

There once was a tiny froglet,

Who sang where the marshlands gleam,

He danced in the rain and he leapt with joy,

And croaked in a chorus of green.

But the toads came near and the wheels rolled clear,

And he vanished like part of a dream.

There once was a freshwater fish,

Who swam where the river ran free,

He darted through reeds in the crystal flow,

A flicker of silver to see.

But the waters turned as the plastics burned,

Till he choked on humanity’s spree.

There once was a world so abundant,

Teeming with creatures of grace,

The jungles were wild, the oceans beguiled,

Life blossomed in every place.

But a species grew with a hunger untrue,

It spread without pause or end,

It tore down the wood, though it never understood,

What it lost it could not amend.

It poisoned and paved, though so little it saved,

And called every conquest gain,

Blind to the worth of the life on the Earth—

It left only silence and pain.

By Peter Harris