Cinderella CO2



Jock Mc Poet

A steam train in a tunnel - that's a clear case of pollution

Air's black as pitch, your nostrils twitch, but what a great solution

Electric trains proved right as rain, the power's from a station

Where chimney flues scrub out all hues of soot particulation.



The only vapours from the site are CO2 and water

When carbon mates with oxygen, they have a lovely daughter

Her beauty though is not for show, her hidden charms unlisted

Like Cinderella pre the ball, soot-faced and ugly-sistered.



There is no doubt a glass of stout is good for our well being

And that there brew needs CO2 to make the cork worth freeing

And soda water isn't short'a carbonated gases

Or do you think that CO2 pollutes our lads and lasses.



The dry ice in your Esky won't contaminate your food

It's CO2 in solid form, its gas will not intrude

Solid CO2 won't melt, it sublimates instead

And doesn't turn to water which would soak your picnic bread.



The great sponge cakes your mother makes need CO2 for lightness

Champagne contains some CO2, to stimulate its brightness

So what about that greenhouse gas, the monster that we fear

It's harmless as that self-same gas that frothifies our beer.



This greenhouse thing has gone too far, the hoax must be exposed

A greenhouse is a building with glass ceilings interposed

Allowing sunlight to come in to power photosynthesis

Where Cinderella has a ball and plants can only win with this.



The heat is trapped, and heat transfer obeys the laws of heat

Conduction is through contact, that's a hot-cold, one-way street

Convection only happens within liquids and with gases

Radiation's wild and free, but slows down in molasses.



Our planet is no greenhouse and for that we've gotta thank it

Its atmosphere is mostly clear and wraps us in a blanket

And H2O it rules you know, in fact it's pretty neat

If you meet an iceberg please respect its latent heat.



The blanket that surrounds us is a blanket in a squillion

The CO2 part's pretty thin, four hundred parts per million

When yarns are stretched as thin as that, it's like a nylon stocking

It's measured by deniers, what it covers up is shocking.



King Coal has brought us from the slums, to fortune and to favour.

The real deniers criticise. King Coal's supporters waver.

But truth will win and then the fraud of taxing carbon users

And trading air to our despair, will join the list of losers.



The fragrance of the sweet fresh rain, the moisture, drops and dew

Owe so much of their sparkle to our friend called CO2.



Jock McPoet April 2011


See also:
The Versed Writing of Jock McPoet - the best is yet to come <http://www.copyright.net.au/1/home/the-versed-writing-of-jock-mcpoet> 

Comments