Dour unfriendly clouds
hug the sky their menace blocking
any sight or slash of blue.
Tobacco rolls of rain lie
waiting for lightning's fire.
Poor Planet Earth! her hopeful welcome
of those lower than the angels
yet fashioned without the link
presaging paradise returned
finds no solace in air light skies of aeons
no balance in oceans' roaring floods
or respite from atomic hail
which stops up her natural breath.
A lost planet fixed in her orbit
she drives onwards awaiting
the destruction of precession.
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