By Wil C. Fry, 1990.05.17

(Copyright © 1990 & 2016 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.)

Plush, green forest, never touched by man
No longer do they escape his hand
They breathe the smog we like to make
They donít get to eat or have the cake
Weíre having so much fun
cars and trains on the run
Plastic grocery bags in every landfill
Polluted water breathed through every gill
Donít irrigate the dry, dusty land
Let it become desert wasteland
Lodes of fossil fuels — under the gun
(Donít use solar power — why use the sun?)
Letís get smart — use nuclear power instead
Let the radiation leave all of us dead
Is there a solution? I donít really know
But please try a little, donít let it go
There may not be an Earth, tomorrow.

Here’s a photo of the original document, which I half-heartedly illustrated with left-column doodles:

Poem: Tomorrow

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