When all labor fails
and every path of desire
is a hapless dead end,
there eternally prevails
that ever primal keep,
the forest,
our enemy and friend
into whose rocky arboreal,
earthy transforming
bacterial chemistries
we ease our weariness
of familial greaving
and hospice ministries
by finally relieving
that unbearable weight,
our breath,
and sleep,
timeless and dreamless,
in death at last,
this ancient wilderness,
silent and vast,
without beginning
or end.

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John Talbot Ross