Down the dark domed womb of my world, Insects flutter: little blazing miracles, symbols of hope, and of nostalgia for the light. In the cities, hummingbirds still fly, and bees with pollen laden wings spread life across the fields…still. There is yet song; there is still strife; there is yet love: all is not lost. Down the burning woods life trembles. Creatures are seeking sanctuary. And ferns that once boasted the bounty of their fronds, today witness their own death. The acrid stench of greed permeates the smoke choked forest. Meanwhile the ignorant, accomplice of the criminal, receives the calls, feet on his desk, and scratching his gold teeth says: “We’ll look into it tomorrow”. While creatures on four legs, and two, with roots, or wings, Or crawling, Wonder What, On Earth, Is going on? Special mention, poetry competition Nostalgia for The Light, London, 2016