Last one standing

Concrete jungles, you have made
Bereft of trees, bereft of shade
No green canopies to spoil the view
Of your neighbour's backyard barbecue

Shopping centers gobble every corner
The last old Oak has no one left to mourn her
Seedlings en-tombed under bricks and mortar
Without sunlight, without water

Chemical laden air, we all breathe
For decades past, I often grieve
We suffocate along with you
From all the noxious things you do

Soon, too few trees shall be left
Who will survive this oxygen theft?
Why not live within our undergrowth?

I have just read and thoroughly enjoyed, Darlene Christianson's blog on Tuscany.
A place I have always wanted to go, I have now re-newed my vow to make it happen one day.

Time

Time runs through the hour glass
Disguised as grains of sand
A clock tick ticking my life away
With each movement of its hands

Each second takes me closer
To the end of my time
Each minute ever nearer
To the death that will be mine

So, I resolve to live each hour
As if it were my last
I shall not give regret a thought
Or dwell upon the past

Each day shall find me grateful