As the Sun peeps below the aurora,

morning coffee is being brewed

over coal by manufacturah.

Trees sigh

what’s the matta?

Earth has fever

and they are still snoring

in pajamas.

Even before dawn

algae have abandoned the corals,

dying they too ask,

“What’s the matta?”

Deep in rem,

still no ansa.

Ahead of the rooster’s crowing,

Floods are right by the doorsteps-

not knocking–

banging!

Polar bears without the glaciers, the ices,

keep wandering wondering–

saying “endless summer

is not a good thing.”

Salmons may not be there

for them, and them

for ages–

sniff sniffing:

CO who?

Is such a,

such a

bad thing.

Earth’s fever is not going

down nor leaving–

and men are still buried

in blankets,

still sleeping

while the house is burning.