Greta's Journey Through Petrochemical Purgatory

One crisp winter morn in Neverland fair,

Greta woke to a world with clear, frosty air.

No petroleum products marred the pure earth,

A flawless Eden of nature’s rebirth.

She tossed her woolen blanket aside,

Stepped onto a floor of willow bark, pulverized.

Her fairy godmother appeared, a sly smile,

"Your carpet? Nylon, not so eco-friendly style.

And Greta looked around with wonder and surprise,

At a world that seemed too good to be realized,

No smog, no fumes, no blackened skies,

Just clear blue air and joy in her eyes.

And so she walked on, with bare feet on the ground,

Her senses alive, her spirit unbound,

A world without petroleum, she had found,

Where magic and nature were intertwined and profound.

Greta smiled, for she knew it was right,

To make sacrifices and save the planet's sight.

She brushed her teeth with a willow stick,

A mangled end to expose wood fibers, thick.

Her godmother spoke, with a knowing tone, 

"Your old toothbrush, nylon, let it be known." 

Greta inquired, "Where is the water found?" 

"Down the road, in the canal's bounds."

"Cholera lurks, be careful where you sip,

A disease that causes such a horrid trip." 

"Why's there no running water?" Greta asked, 

Growing peevish, the answer an arduous task.

Her godmother sighed, and then began, 

"Where do we start? From the pipes, to the land." 

A journey of discovery, where Greta must learn,

Of a world without modern luxuries, a place to yearn.

There followed a long monologue, you see,

Of the challenges that our world will be,

Copper pipes, with copper they must start,

Mined from the earth, with all its heart.

An all-electric earth-mover, if you please,

A machine that moves mountains, with such ease,

But gear lubrication and tires, they do require,

And that's just the start, of this daunting mire.

Ore must be smelted, to make a metal bright,

A process that needs heat, with such might,

Electricity, the source that we may choose,

But the wires need insulation, petroleum they infuse.

Though Neverland's energy springs from hydro's flow, 

We must dive deeper, this much we know, 

Examining mass-energy balance with care, 

To gauge the extent of big petroleum's fare. 

Lubricants, nylon, rubber, and wax,

Elastic too, holding up our backs,

Asphalt for potholes, and more to mention,

A world without petroleum, a pure intention.

Greta's head was throbbing, it hurt so bad, 

"What's for breakfast?" she asked, a little sad, 

Godmother replied, "Fresh eggs, range-fed,

But raw, you'll eat them, with not much dread."

Greta asked, "Raw eggs, why so?" 

Godmother replied, and told her all she must know, 

The need for petroleum products, you see, 

To cook eggs, it's essential, we must agree.

A world without petroleum, it's tough to exist,

Cooking eggs, a luxury, that we would miss,

Unless we burn our fence, and start a fire,

And cook our eggs in orange peels, as we aspire.

But Greta wanted poached eggs, she did declare,

Like her Aunt Tilda's, with the perfect flair,

A longing that could not be met,

A world without petroleum, with many regrets.

Godmother spoke with a solemn tone,

Of Tilda, who had passed, and left alone, 

"Bacterial pneumonia," the reason she gave,

Greta interjected, "Penicillin can save!"

But Godmother explained, with a heavy heart, 

The harsh reality, they had to impart,

The production of penicillin, it's true,

Needs isobutyl acetate, a petroleum residue.

With petroleum scarce, and running low,

Many were dying; grief struck a sorrowful blow.

Disposing of bodies posed a grim case,

Excavators need hydraulic oil, now without grace.

Crematoriums, too, can't burn many,

The solution, a challenge, as there aren't any, 

Neverland fences and furniture, an absent reliance,

Disappearing, now used for roasting eggs, a peculiar science.

To fend off the cold, they combed the black market's spread,

In a world without petroleum, a forgotten dread

And Greta knew, deep down in her heart,

The future was bleak, they needed a fresh start.

A fraction of Greta's day, her worst, it seemed,

No petrochemicals, a world devoid of gleam,

A day to save the planet, but it felt like a lie,

No cellphone, no megaphone, just tears to supply.

A day with raw food, no cooked meal to consume,

No electricity, no appliances, doom and darkness fills the room,

A world without petroleum, it's a challenging fate, 

A day to remember, for all the wrong reasons, but is it too late?

Tune in tomorrow, for Greta's tooth ache,

A root canal, it's not going to be a great, 

Novocain, the numbing agent, is what will be missed,

Synthesized from crude oil, a world without it, a total abyss.

Greta might suffer, with excruciating pain,

No numbing agent, just agony to gain,

In a world without petroleum, challenges may be vast,

But with ingenuity, solutions are cast.