Bad Tenants

Those caravans of daily life proceed at what a cost?
The breath of forests stifled by the clouds of their exhaust.
As we trace our progress mile on mile spent behind the wheel,
the tracks we leave behind us leave scars that will not heal.

We have bundled up our legends and published them in books,
sealed safe between those covers where no one ever looks.
“Oh beautiful for spacious skies and amber waves of grain”
mere lyrics, that though touching, may be sung in vain.

We tend to think that nature is simply meant for viewing,
as we overlook all of those other things we should be doing
to save our fields and forests from pesticides and other
misdeeds brought about by man, lest at last we smother

that Earth that feeds and shelters us in spite of what we’ve done
to bring about our end on this third planet from the sun.
We worry about meteors that pelt us from the skies.
Meanwhile overlooking where the greater danger  lies.

For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are: clouds caravan breath forests track trace wheel touch pelts tends legends bundles.