Emerging o’er the edge – A golden mass of endless bright.

Although, sometimes obscured by cloud-laden skies:

Here! Contained within its fiery rays, a glimmers right,

The quickening; the forever longing debut of morning light.

Contrasting the darkness to unveil the luminance of day.

Night-time is gone for a spinning, and daunts no more,

While – A golden mass of endless bright, reigns the land,

Passing from end-to-end fervently lording across the way.

What has happened to the horrid creature whose glowing eye

Hides in shadowy crevices of every bush and tree alike,

The moon with all its faces; the stars – the man-made light?

Because – A golden mass of endless bright ignites the sky.

Even in alien places where darkness does indeed borrow,

A resting place is found – with iterance to borrow.

A golden mass of endless bright will force upon it, too,

Its fiery rays, so they – let alone can feel no sorrow.

Copyright © Steven B. Dodd 1998

Written: 11/19/1996

Delicate, vulnerable, threatened, vainly dismissed:

Birds, flowers, grasses, trees, the air, the seas,

Fauna and flora – they all fill extinction lists.

Rare, endemic, innocent, biotic, untamed, pure:

Hunted, trapped, driven, used, bought and sold,

Helpless, crippled – with little hope for cure.

To whom does these frailer harvests’ yield?

Big, strong warriors who fight the weak:

Each battle hence – thousands are killed.

Before long, I regret, we will see an end

To the diversity of nature, and all of its parts:

The Phylum, Families, Genus and species within.

Their wealth so dearly immeasurable by man that for

Some it is too late, but the others can be saved,

If we try they can – They can!

They will adapt, evolve, passersby have said.

Though I must – I must reason, by that time even,

The strong, the vigor will already be dead.

Copyright © Steven B. Dodd 1998

Written: 9/09/1996

I went, to the pond, to fish one day

Carrying with me a pole and bait,

And sat on its edge beside a willow tree

With impatience – I could not wait.

I filled by hook with a worm, maybe two –

And stretched for a good, long cast;

Releasing the line I thought to myself,

“Here I am fishing, fishing at last.”

“It was a good throw”, I thought over again

As I watched my cork without blinking,

Wishing that soon, before this day was gone

That my cork would surely be sinking.

And then! Just before it was time to go

I felt a tug – and with a sharp yank,

I hanged the fish like I was taught

And reeled it in to the bank.

It was a little fish – too little to keep

Hanging at the far end of my line;

Though nevertheless, I thought to myself,

“A little fish would do just fine.”

Copyright © Steven B. Dodd 1998

Written: 11/21/1996

She once stood tall with arms outstretched

Her roots planted firmly in the earth,

And her skin breathed life for her brothers

And sisters which are grateful.

But, the Wasichu came and pierced her skin

With their blades and made her fall piece

By piece and she cried the cries of the wolf

And shed the tears of the turtle.

With each piece falling quickly to the ground,

She felt more distant from the sky,

And the sun that had given her life was sad,

For he has known her for many years.

Now she is lying on the earth mothers bosom

From which she once stood tall,

And her veins that had once flowed life

Were aimlessly severed into.

Her roots are now covered in her blood shed

And she is dying in vain - sad,

Now her brothers and sisters must paint

Their faces with their voices and fight.

For she is the tree that makes it possible

For us to breathe and live and grow,

And this is an evil thing that is being done

To her and no-one has the right.

Without her all would die a horrible death

And the wolf could cry no more,

Nor could the turtle shed his tears,

Nor could the Wasichu sharpen their blades.

Copyright © Steven B. Dodd 1998

Written: 01/11/1998