The mighty volcano

spouts fourth and spits its

spew and sparks

its lava lamp of love

in blobs and blots

in fits and starts

covering the locals in dust

from heavy clouds above

with no sign of rain

just mud and muck

running in the gutter

if they ever had such things

slow moving death rolls down the hill

in globules of hatred

mess and Hell

ever closer, getting nearer

is it? It’s hard to tell

yes, yes, it comes

it’s getting close

it’s awfully warm somehow

let’s build a wall

to stop its flow

if time and bricks allow

Image via Wikipedia