Ivory

Ivory
Soft as the morning mist that drapes the lake,
A quiet gleam where elephant tusks lie.
It holds the memory of sun‑kissed savanna,
Of ancient trade routes winding through the dust,
Where traders bartered hope for polished bone,
And craftsmen shaped it into delicate combs,
Inlay for pianos, keys that sigh in minor,
And figurines that whisper of forgotten myths.

Yet beneath its lustre lies a shadowed tale—
A plea for silence where the poacher’s tread
Has scarred the herd, and stained the ivory red.
So let us cherish not the prize, but the beast,
And guard the living ivory that walks the earth,
Turning its back on greed, embracing reverence,
And letting the true colour of compassion shine.