The people now all 'round have heard
The grim, alarming, sadd'ning word
That Mom, their heart and daily light
Has drifted downwards toward the night,
Even into the Bottom Third!

Where are her sons, her daughters bold,
Whose feats have often been far told
Who fought ignorance and despair
Yanking her up by her long brown hair
And bringing her back in from the cold?

Alas, 'the hearth! 'Tis cold and still
And nary a trump sounds from the hill
While Mother lags on the deep's cold brink,
Her sons have gone to have a drink,
And may be drinking still.

Arbuthnot Dalyrymple
Fires from Above
Web, Net and Monitor, Inc., 1949, Oakland