This poem was written just at the end of the Glasgow conference.
COP26. Time Will Tell
They come to bring their music
Their pipes and banging drums
With slogans and with chanting
Till all have aching lungs.
They call for Greta Thunberg
To say again, “Blah, Blah!”
And laugh in mocking manner
At our Boris in his car.
From their marches and their rallies
That continue day by day
They demonstrate in Glasgow
That they have to have their say.
They seek to draw attention
To the planet’s dreadful plight
To the floods and droughts and heat waves
That are more and more in sight.
For some of them have come from where
The sea is rising fast
And others from such stricken lands
All hopes of rain are past.
And some come from the forests
Where their ancestors have dwelt
Where their knowledge and their customs
As precious gifts are felt.
But who now will be listened to
As each day quickly passes
And other oily voices speak
“Replace those trees with grasses.”
In Glasgow’s halls that shimmer
There the powerful ones preside
While delegates write their papers
Showing none of them have lied.
They hear the great man Attenborough
And Charles speak for the Queen
While Putin and his great mate Xi
Are nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps with Bolsonaro
Down the Amazon they float
While chomping on a nice beef steak
He gives them with a gloat.
Oh no, that is not really fair
For Xi and Joe are friends
Both pledged to work together now!
“We’ll share our climate ends!”
So, will it end with one point five
Or will it end with three
With things just getting “a bit worse”
Or, full catastrophe?