Again the time has come to moan the loss
Of grass and plants which but a month before
Bestrewed the naked Valley of the Cross
But now lie mown and parched upon the floor.
It’s time to brace oneself for longer days
Of mute blue skies and diesel engines loud,
For mindless deeds performed in deaf sun rays
Each year polluted more by toxic cloud;
And time to count the hours till Spring return
With hope that peace might come to Israel
Before her stiff-necked leaders blindly burn
The fragile roots which Winter failed to quell.
If man would only cease destroying Earth,
Spring’s end would seem again no lasting dearth.
3 June 1992