Tides sweep through thousands far to east,
The earths maw devouring like a great beast.
Heat drying through hundreds in the north
Bolts cracking skies, and air tearing rock.
All this reduces to small dark fragments,
And ash, black mounds of ashen dust,
Lifted, scattered, tossed aside by the wind,
Such destruction, yet sees no epic end.
It all dissolves to wind in rustling leaves,
Dust to skies from ground, and through trees.
This too sings new strange notes, out of time,
A soft whisper, twinkling through the wind chime.
