There is nothing to be done about it,
Doves caroling as the woods goes dark,
Indigo clouds in tatters over a small sunset,
The sky full of methane from wells in the next county.
Nothing to be done, the dull boom of weather,
Hemlocks shaking their boughs, skidders roaring,
Trees falling in the dusk, nothing to be done,
Alea iacta est, the die is cast.
The earth is turning and all of us with it,
Everything's passing, there is nothing to be done,
Owls' call-and-response in starlight,
Until money has no meaning there is nothing to be done.
