I look into the sun and it looks back at me.
The yellow eye that warms my home and gives life... to
cancer cells.
The winds sweep me off my feet and
I fly alongside smog and waste on the winds of war.
I give myself to this sea of green, spotted with icy tears,
and in return it gives me oil.
I sink deep into the rich bed in the meadow,
and I know it was raised on my forefathers' ashes.

...And if this is the bright stuff of poetry
Then why am I so sad?