Thursday, October 17, 2019
The Logging Road
Dipped and cambered over layers of days;
Softly remembering all that it could,
Of every foot that traveled its ways.
Hesitant footfalls that stalked in the dawn,
Following fleet, cloven anguish and fear.
Crushing and grinding of massed metal brawn,
Dragging dead bodies, silent and austere.
Tiny feet scurrying past in the night,
Darting and dancing, alive and afraid
Of the death that glides soundlessly in flight,
Or chasing someone trying to evade.
Remembering us as slowly we walk,
And noting our passage, but not our talk.
I think that the forest remembers everything we do there and ponders it deeply and overlong.
Posted by Mick at 9:40 PM