Progress and Devastation

[Sander 3312]

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On a bench in the Haensetian countryside sat an Everardine. It was his favourite writing spot, and while he planned on writing something for the Party, he didn't know what. An itch came up in the back of his throat as he inhaled a foul air during his scribbling. He let out a nasty cough, looking up from his paper at the factory in the distance with a look of disgust at the smell and smoke it released into the air. He knew what he was going to write about.

 

Progress and Devastation

Huge manufactory chimneys, in each lovely place,
Belch out their foul smoke over nature’s fair face.
The soot of the furnace begrimes the Spring bloom,
The reeking ‘Plant’ taints every blossom’s perfume.

The streams, that were crystal, pollution imbrowns
With the refuse of ‘Works’ and the sewage of towns,
And the angler no more strolls along on the brink
Of the once pleasant river that now is a sink.

For the fish they are poisoned, trout, grayling, roach, dace,
From pike down to minnow, the whole finny race.
And the spirits too of many a drowned hath fled
The banks now by rats alone haunted instead.

Vast chemical workshops on all sides abound,
Diffusing the breath of corrosion around;
And their fumes, worse than locusts in swarms on the wing,
Blast, utterly, tree, herb, and every green thing.

If the struggle for life, our engrossing employ,
All that makes life worth living at length must destroy,
Cannot our men at least save some verdure and flowers
To last the short time that remains to be ours?

[bumblefina 2766]

Somewhere hot, decidedly not the Kingdom of Hansetti-Ruska, a female figure with blonde hair reclined on a sunbed atop a wooden deck. She held the poem in her hand, reading it over in the shade of a rather large, pink umbrella. As she read it over, a smile crept onto her face, growing into a wide grin by the end. Lifting a pair of tinted sunglasses from her eyes, she peered over the edge of the deck to a man below, who stood donned in a flower print shirt before a smoking grill. As he casually flipped a patty of meat, she called out, “Honey, look, we’re famous!”

[The King Of The Moon 7016]

The equally pasty industrialist glances back from his barbecue, unknowingly spattering grease onto his floral shirt as his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron had been left inside and the burger he’d been flipping began sizzling without proper supervision. 



He’d lower his sunglasses, looking the poem over. With knit brows, the man reddens slightly with annoyance at the ecowarrior’s litany published whilst he was on vacation, thereafter groaning:

 

“I just want to grill for God’s sake!”

[GoodGuyMatt 7113]

A certain elf seated on his Helenian house, peering down to the lake water around the region would finish reading the poem. The elf, whose clothes would be debated to be rather human-ish, then slowly dipped his head, numerous times, clearly agreeing with the message of the work before him. He’d then let a heavy sigh escape his mouth, shaking his head numerous times ”Pathetic” he’d puff slightly, pausing a bit ”Pathetic how they can’t think of ways to make a fortune without being greedy, let alone consider the well being of what they call home and fight for.” the elf uttered lightly to himself, releasing yet another sigh. Watching the water of the lake move about, calmly and gently, he cringed a bit as he thought to all the selfish and unconsiderate acts of the industries mentioned in the poem.