That Slow Green Burn
Fire at the edge of the world.
Eyes deep within the shoreless forest sea,
Witnesses of most ancient ways
Watch smoke rising from the approaching front
Of treeless, naked land
Stripped bare by blind ambition,
Quietly await the end.
Five thousand acres a day
The last great garden drifts into the skies
To join the circling storms that once nourished it.
The fires lick and crawl their way
Into its green heart.
Fire is eating the soul of the world
Reducing the face of its childhood to ash;
- Behold here the sorrow of Eden's last relic
Becoming the charnel-house of Creation.
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