Oily goo fish
This one’s gills are full of tar
Here’s one with a movie star
Oh! What a lot of fish there are!
Along the coast, from here to there
Dying fish are everywhere.
Here’s a bird—let’s call her Jill—
With oil on her enormous bill;
While trying to preen, she ate her fill,
And now poor Jill is deathly ill.
With oily feathers, oily beak,
Resulting from the BP leak,
The pelicans, from there to here
May, in a heartbeat, disappear.
For dying fish and dying birds
The time has come for more than words;
To keep this course we can’t allow:
We need to change; we need to now
Each time you choose to drive your car
To places near or very far,
That bird, whose wings are gummed with tar
Will drive with you, wheree’er you are.
Each time you change the thermostat
And heat your office, home, or flat
(Or cool it down, for all of that)
You help to make the feathers mat
On cormorant and singing chat
Each time… Oh, well. I think the most
I might expect from this poor post,
When every creature on the coast
Has given up its mortal ghost,
When every creature’s bathed in oil
And shuffled off this mortal coil
You might recall your humble host
And raise your glass and give a toast:
“We’ve found our greatest enemy—
And, funny thing… it seems it’s me.”