by James Aitchison
They say the smoke has reached Chile.
Not just the smoke from our blazing forests,
But the smoke from lost firefighters and townsfolk,
And thousands of lost homes,
And five hundred million wild animals,
And cattle and sheep and bold horses
Burned alive in once-lush paddocks.
They say the smoke is toxic. It is not.
It is sacred.
Showing posts with label James Aitchison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Aitchison. Show all posts
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