The Lorax floats to the sky,
The sky drips with ashes.
Fire burns the land,
Trees collapse on the broken acreage,
Birds fly fast and high,
Soaring in the gray horizon,
Floating above the dusty clouds.
I walk across the shriveled grass,
Imagining the beauty that came before.
Remembering the delicate truffula trees.
YOU ARE READING
The Fallen Lorax
PoetryThe last hope in the deserted land, lays in the hand of us. Finding the missing seed, allowing growth upon the land. Remembering a little seed can save our world and all who inhabits.
