What I’ll miss is the envelope of green
that bears the cycle of the seasons
trees, shrubs and flowering stems
a constancy of summer autumn winter spring
I’ll miss walking my suburban streets
passing through cloistered eucalypt trunks
in the park where children laugh on swings
and off leash dogs fuelled by freedom dash
Too good the taste of many cuisines
I’ll miss the tang of spices simmering
lashes of lush sauces and oil from
groves on enduring rural hills
from page to film and stage a pantechnicon
of need from classic tales to ribald fun
stories that challenge comfort ground us
I’ll miss them when I’m done
What I’ll not miss is the world outpacing me
hijacking the future to prepare us now
I prefer the pleasures of a passing life
as earth wearies of the anthropocene
