He lived in a rustic shack,
Writing poetry all day,
With the creek rippling out back,
And forest creatures at play.


He wrote of nature and such,
With a philosophic bent,
And, not needing very much,
For basics his money spent.


A statement he hoped to make
Causing folks to be aware
That the planet was at stake,
If they didn�t live with care.


His, a life of sacrifice,
Only his words were profuse,
His poems, a teaching device,
The wisdom of a recluse.


Then, the Bard of Willow Creek
Learned he had competition,
For just the previous week,
Thoreau penned his edition.


Of Walden Pond he had writ,
And his theme was just the same.
Up the creek, the bard just quit,
Fouled the land and hunted game.