Lavishing colours that turn from blues to greys

depending on the sun's moody ways

Its super power lets life exist

even in the dust and mist

It reigns upon those that need it most

It is their reliable daily host

Until the white sheets settle in

and clear droplets replenish the moisture within

Like the erasers for all mistakes,

the liquid cleanses, cools, and takes

the scuff and dirt, the toxic paint

It is truly Nature's Saint

But the awful colours we create

may come to be too hard to eliminate

The fumes taint the water toxic brown

before it reaches destined ground

Brushing past the branches and bark

to the very roots the toxic paint marks

the soil, and is drawn up by automatic sense

staining the plants' 'innersence'

Causing despair, they gradually whither away

Once prosperous, now in the state of decay

until the first coating has completely covered on

all the living, they will be gone

Unnatural colours will come to take over

All around will be dull and sober

And to think it's the fuming brush of brown

that turned all nature upside-down

Beauty would have a whole new definition

Abstract faces, new complexions

So before nature becomes bizarre art,

let's put down our palates, and not start.