Where I stand is not green at all

Where I stand is not green at all

So I wish Spring was near, where the daffodils bloomed,  

The inquisitive breeze brushing my shoulders.

The brilliant burnished surface

Of a crystalline clear lake; the surface as slick as ice.

Marvelling at the flourishing green that paints the land.

I remember the lively buzzing of bees, and

The delicate flapping of butterflies.

I remember the rushing water

That flowed down the stream.

I remember the daffodils

And the breeze and the lake and the bees and the butterflies and the stream.

I wish I could remember more. Because.

Where I stand. Is not green at all.

A putrid yellow fog, a barren land, suffocating in the fumes

Made by our hands. The river, once full of life,

Is now acid-green. I see no trees here,

Only depleted stumps. The flourish daffodils that bloomed,

Are gone... Long gone. I mourn for the past and the vibrant Spring

Because… Where I stand is not green at all.