I thought the forest would outlive
me, a hundred years' shade
over overgrowing paths,
rich moss on boulders
that had laid there
since the ice age, squirrels
and birds on the high branches,
cautious as you made your way.
All gone now, except
the boulders, a thin line of trees
on a ridge. It will slowly
march down from there,
the forest, saplings rising
seeking sunlight,
the deep grooves, tracks
left by the machines hidden.
But I will be long gone
when the shade has returned,
when cautious squirrels and birds
again observe what goes on
on the paths deep below.
09.10.2025
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