I am the vulture,
Who seeks to feed
On what man leaves,
Now more than ever
In generous measures
Of munificent waste,
In varied assortments
For every bird’s taste,
Repugnantly vile
In voluminous piles,
Blended with progress
Of contaminate state,
Not to mention man left
All but breathable air,
And nigh potable water,
Once too pure and fresh!
Poetry on a Canapé 
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Contrary to the vulture, Man is his own gravedigger and does not seem to care about it.
Great poem.
My few words on the issue, and your support response are but grains of sand in the overall scheme re our quality of life, but without our having our objections made heard, it is as good as admitting defeat. Thank you for this. Jean-Jacques Fournier
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