The indulgent pyre
We built for our mother earth,
Is now well alight,
It’s dressed in all her finery
She’d worn upon her wedding night
(Fake) Flowers now of every hue and shade
Green silk and damask coronets
That from once shone diamonds bright
 

She was a frightful heretic you see
For giving of her treasure
To man and not asking for a fee
So we tied her to our stake
Of avarice and greed.
 

Now there’s only
Ash and bone where once
Was fertile fruitful earth
mere broken empty weasel
words on which
we arsonists may feed.