Slumber of the Wooly Mammoth

For eons the Wooly Mammoth slumbers, deep in his impatient sleep Restless beneath his brilliant blanket of Artic Ice. Neath the timeless tundra you can hear him weep. Memory is a thunderstorm raging in the caverns of his mind Frozen in the inexorable blue glacier of his torment, Grinding down all time lost and misspent. Aghast, he dreams of a past significantly better And finds that tortuous road a loss much bitter, He turns instead to the visions of a future perfect. In the germ of his wintry bones there is flora fair Potential foments in the virgin forests there. Radiant aspirations are his heart’s true reason So he thinks, I must have missed another climate, another season. On feet that seek and find, he longs to wander forever In the heat of the succulent jungle air. He craves to fulfill his naked hunger But lost, he can no longer. All he can remember is this mind numbing slumber And this cold, cold winter.