As the century wore on,
Rock saw with sorrow
where the world was heading;
despite much trying,
human populations everywhere
were spreading,
displaced creatures dying.

In 2027, while politicians worldwide
worried about re-election,
the last surviving Bengal tiger, lacking habitat
and looked on as a dangerous pest,
took a bullet in the chest.
(After which her priceless skin
was put into a special bin.)

In 2032, the last black rhino,
born and raised inside a zoo,
was murdered for his horn, which,
powdered into finest dust
was stored in special tins,
and sold as aphrodisiacs
to Nipponese insomniacs.

In 2034, the two remaining forests,
one in Argentina, one El Salvador,
were burned, so that a burger czar
could raise some hay to graze his herds.
Indeed, the cattle grazed so well,
that two years later all that land,
where once did dwell
tree nymphs and rarest birds,
was nothing more than sand, more sand,
and cattle turds.

In 2045, starving human populations,
coughing in the noxious air,
tried penetrating other nations.
Those not shot by border guards,
learned to savor
every edible they found:
tree sloths, baboons,
even maggots in the ground
(which soon returned the favor).

In 2048, global warming
caused such floods and drought,
that half the continents were
under water, half dried out.