Colin F. Jones

THE SOURING EGG

The egg laid in space by mystery,
Floats in the airless yoke of time
Like an onion, layered with history,
Being peeled and in decline.
Its green parts are now browning
And cracking from the dry:
The shadows of buildings towering
Hiding toxic rivers flowing by.
There’s the cry of dying Children
In the lands where man was born,
While the corporations build on
The land that once grew corn.
While we greedy affluent sinners
Ask forgiveness from our Lord