Towering turbines turn the motion of molecules into electricity;
Whole fields of fog-makers spin and twist to perhaps power a city.
They vigorously mix the chill of the atmosphere with the sea’s warmer air,
The invisible benefit yields a misty consequence: just look, stare:
The warmer the air, the more moisture it can hold,
We have seen this often, as a rainstorm follows the cold.
Move warm air to cold and almost in protest water leaps from the sky,
Quickly frosted air from the ocean, does Gaia cry?
To offset the damage done to Gaia since her birth,
We constructed great blades never seen on the Earth.
They chug and churn and turn without exhaust,
In forlorn hope to hold on to what hasn’t already been lost.
The world turns, the fuel burns, the climate heats, and we strive,
To undo the pollution, to ensure that we thrive.
As we struggle to tinker with a climate so vast,
Surely we will wish we had warned the inventors of the past.
In the effort to alter a planet’s climate with machines that turn when blown,
We create mini-climates of our own.
But, without stopping, we must secure an exchange,
Whether macro or micro, we must endure a climate change.
Lesser of two brothers said:
He left out the part about the slaughter of millions of birds by the lovely blades.
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