The Earth Beneath Our Breath

The earth is not a silent stone,

But breathes beneath our feet unknown—

With forests deep and oceans wide,

Where timeless winds and spirits glide.

She sings in leaves and weeps in rain,

In mountain hush and desert plain.

Each stream a verse, each tree a line,

Composed in rhythms so divine.

The sun, her lamp; the moon, her dream,

She speaks in light and silver gleam.

The stars are stitched into her cloak,

Her whispers drift in chimney smoke.

The rivers flow like veins that nourish

Her injured earth, her flowering seed.

And we, the visitors, forget her kindness,

And mar her sky, and pilfer her face.

She gave us fruits and refuge free,

A sky to paint, a field, an ocean.

She dressed us first in leaves of spring,

Taught birds to soar and hearts to sing.

Now the glaciers cry and thaw,

Their ages-long sorrow long unuttered.

The coral bleaches from living beauty

While plastics strangle the heart of the sea.

The bees fall silent loud,

Under pesticide-saturated cloud.

The forests tumble like holy scrolls,

Former guardians of our living souls.

The smokestacks pierce like steel tombs,

And winds become hot and wounds refuse to heal.

The climate changes with deepened sigh,

As oceans rise and eagles wail.

But still she stands with motherly grace,

And colors the dawn with golden lace.

The daffodils continue to face the frost,

Reminding us what might be lost.

Can we not discern the gift we have?

This blue breath that we share so rare,

So rich, alive—

Not just soil under our feet,

But living story, soul.

Let not our avarice be nature's tomb,

Let every stream and sprout survive.

Repair the roots, renew the song,

Put right the centuries of blight.

For we are born of earth and sky,

Of forest quiet and ocean cry.

And if we care, and try,

The earth can heal, the earth won't die.

So plant a tree, and pen a rhyme,

Let kindness grow in every clime.

For nature, fierce and soft and great,

Still holds our hope in outstretched hand.