The Last Snowflake


Will we know when the last snowflake falls?

Will we know when the last songbird sings?

When the last squirrel discovers the last acorn?

When the last bullfrog belches its final love song

to a dark reflection of itself in a polluted puddle?

When neither the chicken nor the egg remains?

 When possums aren’t playing dead?

 Will we notice when bees cease to buzz?

When the blaze of green, red, blue, and purple spring becomes brown and burnt sienna?

 Will we care?

Will our descendants live in Hobbit homes covered by decimated dirt

buried beneath Earth’s burned skin afraid to walk freely in the sun?

Will we burrow our way through Earth’s drying corpse,

seeking some sort of subsistence in our celestial victim’s body?

 Will all creatures great and small exist only on museum walls?

 Will we know when the last human dies?

Will Earth sigh with relief

or like Romeo and Juliet


will long-suffering Earth make one last arid exhalation

joining us in extinction

leaving only ash and dust


 in Memoriam.

Will God weep?

Send angels to carry us to eternal sleep?

Or will God turn away

go somewhere else to play

with no one left to pray for a better day?

 Will we know when the last memory fades to gray?

 Will there be anyone left to say

Remember when?


Remember when the last snowflake fell?