Green grows in places amidst technology,
bright against the landscape of dirt and brick and cement.
Pushing up through the cracks of weathered concrete,
defiance of logic in deference to the burdens of man and machine.
The birds startle and fly from the blast of steam,
escaping from a tower of metal above their small forms,
then resettle indifferently once it’s done,
making shelter beneath the soft leaves they call home.
The seagulls pick wantonly at bags of fast food remnants,
scattering papers haphazardly into the wind.
Their shrieking complains loudly and they move to the next parcel,
denied and outraged, they scavenge alone.

Sleep brings dreams of a fragrant land once known,
in the far off days before their home was captured.
Steam becomes the rush of a vibrant river
and shadows are once lush forest in their softened slumber.
Intrepid movement of human progress disturbs silence,
while an instinctual yearning for home forces them to stay.
Calling out to the demons who have intruded,
another day passes in search of the forage which is life
reasoning this makeshift change beyond ability,
for the staunch and beautiful creatures to absolve.
Taking flight once again, they survey their kingdom,
sure in their haven, they breath deeply of the human folly.