we just might be the last to go

I wonder if my grandchildren
will ever know
the taste of snow
the sound of autumn leaves in a soft rain
the cocksure personality of a crocus
or the lonely sound of a spring peeper
on a warm, humid night so still
that you could fill your lungs with your last breath?

Unlikely.

For there are those too arrogant
and selfish, blind,
they live for themselves
not for your children
and their children, and theirs
and the children of lost tribes
and ancient civilizations doomed
by the small minded and ignorant merchants of the end of man.

We just might be the last to go,
but all beauty will end for their ends.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.