Bill_Hartzia - Eyjafjallajökull


Volcano shatters Spring this year,
No flights patrol the dusty sky.
Crops wither on the vine and die.

The Summer's lost; in Autumn die
the harvest and the hope the year
will end with blue and cloud-free sky.

The Winter's greyer than the sky.
An ashy snow falls; people die.
We light bright fires to end the year.

Beneath the year-end sky we die. 

The End

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