Abandoned factories reach up to god. Outside them lay a forest undisturbed, Choked by smog it struggled still to grow, Like armies camped around enemy walls, Waited for the weight of years to fall. And as I passed within its maze I asked Out into the silent afternoon: Who will be the survivor of time, And which of these soldiers will fall sooner? How soon will they be then discarded if A suitable replacement can be found? If that philosophy stands too for me, Where, now, is the wood of my coffin? I only hope its seed is unplanted.