Overgrowth across your face
               there's newness in the veins.
              machinery has dragged away
          your features....
                  
                         Undecayed, sleep underneath
                        the leaves and age
                         cocooned- from those who walk, with those die
                                   they all forgot...
                      the preachers, safe from sacred
                         weld breath into coins- some printed with your lips
                                and some with eyes.
                              your skin was taken as the ants carry the trees.
                                  Now firmly empty, watching skies
                                remain in groves left lost for greed.
                                       dear ancients, pity me.