March 13th, yet summer sways,
Eighty degrees in spring’s faint haze.
Tennessee blooms in heated breath,
While skeptics scoff at nature’s stress.
The rivers rise, the forests burn,
But facts are twisted, truth adjourned.
“Not real,” they claim, as warmth expands,
While Earth cries out in blistered lands.
Deniers mock the warning’s chime,
Yet seasons blur, outpacing time.
How loud must nature’s fury roar,
Before they can’t deny it anymore?
