A Naturalist's World
Oh, sweet sense of abandon away from the concrete jungle,
Far from the neon lights that blind the stars and the moon,
The roar of the avenues, cars cruising in lightning speed,
Out of the bowl of smog, of high rise arches;
Incommunicado by modern tools, missing.
Oh, sweet sense of abandon, derelict from cares of the world,
Fugitive from civilization - that which humans are bound,
And captive, outcast he who takes Henry Thoreau's stand,
Who follows the trail where footprints are few and seldom new;
Lost - one is called who has found his freedom.
Oh, sweet sense of abandon, and here bare and naked,
The amenities of the Good Life, a hut for a condominium;
A pond for a swimming pool, dugout for a car or train;
Doors and windows open to let the fresh air in,
The breeze through the trees, the silence of peace.
Oh, sweet sense of abandon, is this they call progress?
Where is unity and harmony in isolation?
Thousands, nay millions, leave the throng to escape
Daily grind, morals and rules they fear to break -
Is this exodus to simple living?
Oh, sweet sense of abandon, you may be true but deceiving,
When the world is dying on land, water and sky,
Culture engulfed by material wealth controlled by few,
Bombs ticking in poverty and war and technology,
And in some corner of Eden, too. ~