I love this limerick by my friend Corbin Evans, award-winning chef and laid back shorts-wearin' guy:
PHRIMSERS and BLACK GOLD
Phrimsers are bundles of brawn & guts,
Hardened by storms and painted coconuts;
‘The weather,’ many say,
‘May end their long days,’
Who knew it would be nothing of the such.
As Black Gold lurked deep down below,
Deeper even than the fish aglow,
Close to the core
Faceless men did bore,
Ashore no one dreamt the Gold could flow.
Faux Pols stutter, flubber and all quack
‘The Gold, we most certainly, must not let lack;
‘So what!... if some birds and bait
Expire before their use by date,
Dependence on the Gold must not slack.’
Yet mills of wind and panels del sol,
Could be the bright future from North to South Pole,
If only from plastic bottles and bags we could ween,
And happily sustain ourselves on a planet green,
Instead of warming globally and selling our soul.
Our food is unsafe and our bellies heartache,
As BP destroys the earth for profits sake;
The wetlands are on the brink,
Our culture nearly extinct,
Lucky if ever again sweet, brown Phrims we taste from the lake.