Waves of smashed rubble
Lie defeated beneath
A blanket of ivy.
Broad vales of bright
Wild-blossoms embrace
The steel altars.

Trees, like temples to
Passion, ascend upwards
From tar and muck.
They grow thick with
Leaves, and bear swathes
Of gleaming fruit.

Even as the gales
And rain-storms fall in waves,
The gentle forest prevails.
It is a sort of art:
In the end, Nature comes
To reclaim us all.