EuCaLYptUs

Faith has carved itself into rock,

Where ghosts gather in white linin frock.

Wells are empty, unseen children cry

As eucalyptus trees suck the fertile lands bone bare dry,

Squeezing, wringing out the souls of their sin,

Gratifying the chosen people: no salvation just another famine.

Purple yellow green parched sand stripe the amber hill.

It’s not He but the thirsty trees that kill!

Those lanky white demons that sway in the beating sun,

Leaves dance, shiver, as if sing, making fun.

The bells resound for the tenth time today,

Ringing across the valley as if to say:

“Take His wine, take His bread,

Don’t forget to pray before you go to bed.”

The priest crosses another emaciated chest.

Lord, take his soul, lay him to rest.