The sun grew weary of seeing men squandering its light

And preferring instead the harsh glare of the false suns they find inside.

Choosing to bask in the lifeless artificial illumination they created

Or seeking dark, dusty corners in which they can hide.

The moon grew weary of men neglecting its quiet power

And turning a blind eye to its gentle guidance of the changing seasons.

Never seeing the majesty of the rising and falling ocean tide

Always looking instead for other answers, other reasons.

The wind grew weary of men denying its gentle touch

Oblivious to its guiding hand warming him up and cooling him down.

All but ignoring the delightful scents it carries to his nose

Feeling instead only inconvenience and things that make him frown.

The rain grew weary of men avoiding its every tender touch

**Covering their heads and hearts and faces against the falling drops.**

****

Dashing from doorframe to doorframe in a vain attempt to stay dry

Forgetting its ability to balance and clean and grow crops.

The world grew weary of men diminishing her great value

Denying their actions that contribute to her slow, inevitable death.

Not truly stopping to understand that the day is fast approaching

When they will take their last drink, their last step, their last breath.