No more sky.
No immense blanket for the wistful clouds,
To peacefully rest and slumber in tranquillity, or to scream and cry in the blue sky.
No more oceans.
No fast flowing currents like a raging bull racing rapidly with mighty motions,
All slick surfboards concealed away, quietly and without a whisper.
No more blueberries.
No explosive orbs of ecstasy, sweetly singing in your palette.
Our blue fruit. Gone, but not devoured. Missing, but not consumed.
No more bluebirds.
No quaint choir to be heard and enjoyed in the dew-dropped garden,
No song of the morning, no murmur of the night, the silence of nature.
No more hydrangeas.
No breath-taking heads held high in the garden, the glowing sapphire of the wild,
To calm you, and I, down.
No more sadness.
No tearful or melancholy people, no tears, no frowns.
Everyone blissful throughout, from dusk till dawn.
No more Blue Planet.
No future to long for,
No you, and no I. Nothing.