The future of us
By Henry N
A stump of a tree,
With green leaves on top,
Suddenly gone.
A green stem, a beautiful power,
Most would call it a flower.
Blackening, fading, gone.
Blue I am,
A raging tower,
Splash, crash!
Rising is me,
Melting is me.
The feet of the human,
To the hands on the side,
We need to stop,
Polluting our land.