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Featured Writer: Isabel Corson

Updated: 5 days ago

A Drought of Ichor


When Gaia laid her bed of green

Right down upon the Earth,

She had such hopes for nature’s gifts

And new life to be birthed.


The trees could sing, the flowers croon,

The rain laughed with a tinkle,

Apollo bathed the world with light

And set all stones a-twinkle.


The world was bright, but empty,

An eggshell long since cracked.

So Gaia rubbed her temple

To put on her final act.


At first, rejoice! and celebrate!

For Gaia had succeeded

The art that humans would provide

Like none that had preceded.


But as time passed and Kronos tired,

Whisperings began

What were the humans doing?

And what was their great plan?


The curtain lifted, the shutters opened,

And all the gods could see

What Man had made of all its gifts!

That, no one could foresee.


The Earth was ravaged, broken, bare

Its florals torn asunder.

Metal trees replaced the oaks

Once built with so much wonder.


The tears spilled out from Gaia’s eyes,

Her body shook with sobs

No one could return the Earth

Of which she had been robbed.


Ere move be made or kind word spoken,

Her spirit had departed.

A final gust swept through the air

And left Pan brokenhearted.


Though no one knows what became of Gaia

After that fateful day,

It is said she might return, perhaps

Should the world Man repay.



Isabel is a high school student from South Carolina. She is 16 years old and enjoys writing, drawing, and attempting other artistic endeavors. She is passionate about expressing opinions and emotions through art.

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