Through thick rustling leaves of beige and toast,
O’er crisp vast ice whiter than a ghost.
Down streetways and alleys swarming with crowds,
Up huge frosty mountains piercing the clouds.
Down rift valleys and ‘cross frozen tundra,
African deserts and the Land Down Under.
The world is huge, with room to spare,
But something’s somewhere, and only there.
Dive in the sea, sink like a fallen ship.
Swim until you reach the southernmost tip
Of California, then head through the foam,
And find the place Vaquita call home:
The Sea of Cortés, rich and warm,
With rainbow fish teeming in swarms.
The tiny Vaquita, gentle and few,
Are vanishing quickly; what do we do?
They happily swim ‘mong coral and kelp,
In spite of this, they need our help.
Gillnets trap them and take their lives,
Until now, we’ve ignored their strife.
Be brave, la Vaquita, and do not fret.
Side by side, we’ll conquer the net.
Powerful poetry. Nicely done, young sir.
Thanks so much!!! -GLT