Poem: Nothing Was Done

Nothing Was Done

to stop it: no one acted,

there hands only troubled

at the deepest seams

of each pant pocket,

worrying free lint

and small.crumbs of debris.

Their were warnings:

the sky was red, 

glowed its angry omen,

the seas whirled like blades.

Even the birds knew,

flew, out of season, to other lands.

But nothing was done,

no one moved a finger,

and now they all ask

for cleaner pockets,

if they had cleaner pockets

such things would never happen.