Wednesday, 19 June 2013

Poem on the HAZE

Poem on the HAZE

The smell of smoke permeates the air.
It is on our clothes and our hair.

When we ask a solution of our government,
they wring their hands and say "it's a predicament."

"We will make the calls, and express our distress.
We can do nothing more than be a pest."

Twenty-year problem we cannot solve.
Maybe there is not enough resolve?

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