“Climate crisis is a code red for humanity” Antonio Guterres, UN Secretary General
In the sweet olive grove of Rovia
an old olive tree stood wide and proud.
Fertile and venerable its ancient trunk
was at least ten adult people round.
It harboured the myths of the island clan
The history flowing up through the soil;
Where the giants and the Titans had battled for power
before peace and tranquillity told hold
Code red is the warning you can hear.
Code red is the warning we should fear.
Code red is plain for all to see.
Code red sealed the fate of the old olive tree.
As the sun rose higher and the temperature soared.
The air was so hot you could hardly breathe.
Then wisps of smoke from the forests and hills
rose gently from the earth just like a wreath.
And the old tree shuddered, it was dying of thirst.
In in its long life this had never come to pass.
As its wood dried up and smoke turned into flame
and the old olive tree turned into ash
So we build our roads, and we drive through tracks for trains
but a woodland lost will never come again,
And we burn down the jungles for our soya and our meat
and the gasses float to air, a human stain.
On the island of Evia land stands sad and empty.
a wilderness of ashes and bare stone.
Poseidon sheaths his trident and weeps dry tears of rage
at Hera’s land’s forever lost and gone