Dew

After the death of insects,

walk slowly and mourn.

These words like Dew 

hung tightly to the tips of wet grass.

Birds sounded loud- 

hungry -

soon to perish,

lined a freshly cut path. 

Between brown tinged yellow 

and green fields, 

once home to an abundance of 

Small alien looking creatures,

taken for granted. 

Where are the trumpets, 

sounding the alarm. 

Our biosphere 

is breaking down. 

Stop what we’re doing.

Reflect. 

This precious earth-

 An extraordinary 

delicate balance of life.