THE HOSTILE PLANET

Even as scarp grows green again

Or adds an additional lovely curve

To terrain,

Rubble and bones

Lie deepening

Forgotten under its new growth

And new beauty.

It is a hostile planet,

When you come right down to it—

For mankind, that is.

We make our small

(or sky-rising abodes)

Upon the “innocent” hills of green,

Or deep in high valleys,

Or high on mountain steep—

But when the planet shakes

In frivolous dance of quivers,

Our little homes crumble.