Gracelessly

This is an arrogantly presumptuous
rock upon which we live, constantly
turning its face from the eye of its sun
as like a stubborn child furtively
spurning a parent's guiding hand of
frustrated concern for a willful
offspring's safety, security, well-being.

While the sun, mothering its reluctant
planet, may shrug in resignation,
we creatures of nature, cyclically
deprived of warmth and comfort must
resign ourselves to that hope that
springs eternal beckoning the future.

As we prepare for the cold distance of
a winter aspect by reaping crops of the
Earth's surface, and dredge energy from
the Earth's core ... depleting resources,
we chide our source that through its
negligence we have scant other option.

Or so it so often seems. Yet this nature
of our sun-kissed planet merely exists,
indifferent to our dismay; our accidental
host, owing us no courtesies whatever.
Even so, tolerating us, permitting us to
make use of its vast treasures, and we do.