The Judges of Eden

The Judges of Eden
Two humans stumbled through the forest,
Phones held high to capture all,
Each selfie more absurd than last—
While hidden eyes watched their fall.
The owl perched on ancient oak,
Adjusted spectacles with wing.
"Observe these creatures," he intoned,
"So smart, yet understanding nothing."
The fox reclined on mossy stone,
Rolling eyes at human folly.
"They've built great cities, cured disease,
Yet here they dance for likes, how jolly!"
A pair of ravens joined critique,
"They've poisoned rivers, fouled the air,
Then venture here on weekends brief
To pose as if they truly care."
The deer approached with caution step,
"They've lost connection to the ground.
They walk through paradise distracted,
Eyes on screens, missing sounds."
The humans dabbed and struck a pose,
Beside a waterfall serene.
Completely missed the council gathered,
Nature's jury, sharp and keen.
"Of all the species," sighed the bear,
Emerging from his silent watch,
"These ones alone seek validation
Through filtered moments they dispatch."
"Perhaps," the sparrow gently chirped,
"We're harsh in judgment of their ways.
They're simply lost and searching for
What we find in simpler days."
The humans left as dusk descended,
Reviewing photos, quite content.
Unaware the forest parliament
Had found them guilty of contempt.
For wasting life in pursuit of praise,
For missing moments swift and true,
The animals—the wisest judges—
Knew exactly what humans do.