'Twas the night before Copenhagen ...
A short poem about the climate change conference, playing on a holiday classic.
Monday, December 14, 2009 - 23:37
WHAT HOLIDAY? Student protestors inside the Bella Conference Hall in Copenhagen. (The lights are a computer effect, not part of the original picture.) (Photo: SustainUS/Flickr)
When prompted to think about December, Copenhagen is all that came to mind, though Christmas wasn't far behind. So I combined the two in the following poem, which envisions the night before the final day of the Copenhagen conference. (You can blame the poetry unit in my English class for the lyrical format.) We'll have to wait and see what the conclusion truly brings, but at least in the meantime, I hope you enjoy some of these rhymes.
'Twas the eve of day twelve, when all through the world,
Toward the events in Copenhagen all thoughts were turned.
Twenty-four hours left, and a deal must be struck,
So the fate of humanity would at last be in luck.
Activists and leaders were both tucked in their beds
As visions of climate change danced in their heads.
Ppm, greenhouse gas, is it as bad as it seems?
Such were the thoughts haunting their dreams.
The cost is too high, the will is not there,
We cannot agree, so the negotiators declared.
In their minds, as they mused what to say
When reporters would ask how they could fail in this way.
Meanwhile, the young and aware, wherever they lied,
Thought of their future with tears in their eyes.
They had called, they had marched, they had said the right things,
Yet their leaders still ignored what two degrees brings.
"Will we have enough water? Will we have enough food?
What about the storms, the refugees, the resulting feuds?
How will we teach our futureless children to cope?
And most of all, where is our hope?"
For it seemed almost certain there wasn't a shot
Humanity's fate by the oil companies was bought.
The justice, the jobs, the realization of potential,
Were but a glimmer, as status quo was far more essential.
The world, we demand an agreement — fair, ambitious and binding,
We're sick of excuses and ever-present whining.
It's a joke to compare the loss of some profit
To the loss of the Earth and all who've stepped on it.
A child is sleeping, mind unencumbered by fear,
Dreaming of nothing but a holiday soon to be here.
No knowledge of CO2, nor humanity's plight,
Merely hoping that perhaps this Christmas will be white.
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