The black twigs of thought

clutch desolately at

a world they will leave behind;

they hover there,

blowing in a howling wind

clinging to their old traditions

& their old awarenesses;

stones in a winter stream that

threatens to wash them



for once these trees were budding, green

once they had autumn leaves

once they were new and fresh

and once they were endless, eternal


Yet all that lasts forever must

still disappear one day;

and even ancients must surrender

to this warning:

they have known it all along, no doubt.

felt it all their endless lives...


and the black twigs of thought

clench, desperate, to the snow,

wanting, hoping, praying

not to be left behind…