When silence descends upon the Earth,
and no more mothers are giving birth,
as the last burning candle is snuffed out,
questions are left, weighted by doubt.
When the last tree's shed its final leaf,
and the wind is gone with a sigh of relief,
when the seas have ceased to lap the shores,
and forests, green, are no more,
a barren rock, cold as stone,
drifting in space, silent, alone,
no record of what once had been,
no vestige of the race of men.
Who will notice, who will care?
Is there anyone else out there?
Copyright © Danielle White