Poetry: Original Poetry was read by the author Nickolas Lord-McCormick Age 10:

Pollution.

I have had a vision of something that starts very small,
A thing that just might kill us all.
This vicious thing has but one devotion:
To make us suffer with a simple motion.

We must use all of our contribution
To help destroy this thing called pollution.
It slowly but surely infests our health,
Using the most notorious stealth.

The darkness of this deadly smoke
Is able to cover earth in a poisonous cloak.
We might be able to destroy this pollution,
If only we could make a miracle revolution.

I only hope in years to be,
We might be able to break free.
Energy can be produced in different ways,
Other than littering earth with poisonous sprays.

Smoke as black as night
Gushes out of smokestacks
Suffocating blue skies with ugly blacks.
Air pollution summons acid rain,
One vile drop will cause much pain.

From the very first fire
To the very last blaze,
Our earth will soon be covered in haze.
Ash and death will reign supreme,
Unless there is one last bright hope beam.

This beam of hope will spiral wider and wider,
Making our clouds so much whiter.
One last human with one last hope,
Deprived of everything but a bar of soap

This human will fight this dismal day,
Using all hope in every way.
Slowly but surely, beautifully as light,
This single human will fight and fight.

And, at last, in this human's last breath,
A thing is destroyed: A thing called death.
A beautiful flower rises from earth,
Spreading seeds with a happy mirth.

More delightful green rises to,
Spreading kindness through and through.
One blue eye opens, then another,
A baby born from his dead mother.

This young child is the turn of the tide,
This young child prays for the died.
He gazes about, staring at the pollution,
And figures out one thing: a solution.
He looks up at a flying dove,
Then he spreads the thing called Love.

2/10/05