No more

One summer afternoon,
As it poured outside,
You said to me,
"The rain is pretty."
I shake my head.
One winter morning,
As white flakes fell,
You say to me,
"The snow is pretty."
I shake my head.
The snow, the rain,
They don't glisten with brightness anymore,
They're not even clean.
Water that falls from the sky,
In any form, rain, hail, sleet.
Are all tainted by Man,
Polluted by technology.
No drop or flake is pure,
Each filthy with the essence of humans.
A thousand million years ago,
Before Man rose,
You could catch the raindrops in your mouth,
Without worry of contamination.
No more,
No more.
A thousand million years ago,
You could say to me,
"The snow is pretty."
That would've been true,
No more,
No more.

Dedicated to Sonya for the idea