My Cradle Was A Shoe.

I Offer You What I Have My Poverty

This Is What I Have Heard At Last The Wind In December Lashing The Old Trees With Rain Unseen Rain Racing Along The Tiles Under The Moon Wind Rising And Falling Wind With Many Clouds Trees In The Night Wind.

Sitting Over Words Very Late I Have Heard A Kind Of Whispered Sighing Not Far Like A Night Wind In Pines Or Like The Sea In The Dark The Echo Of Everything That Has Ever Been Spoken Still Spinning Its One Syllable Between The Earth And Silence.

There Is Part Of A Structure In Which Every Species Is Related To Every Other Species. And They're Built Up On Species, Like A Pyramid. The Simpler Cell Organisms, And Then The More Complicated Ones, All The Way Up To The Mammals And Birds And So Forth. We Call It 'developing Upward'... The Whole Thing Depends On Every Part Of It. And We're Taking Out The Stones From The Pyramid.

We're Losing A Species Every Few Seconds. We Cannot Put Them Back. If We Change Our Mind And Say, 'oops, We Made A Mistake' - It's Too Late. This Is The World We Live With.