A beach used to be here,
or so it was said
as rumbling trains
on the tracks,
close behind our heads,
ignoring or unaware of its
foolhardy guests.
From high above
the soft river waves
can be seen shambling toward the shore.
And from such perspective
can industry be ignored.
No trains,
no tracks,
just rolling green bluffs.
And on some days,
on the semi-stagnant waters below,
can the sky and forests
give their likeness
to the river beneath.
How long
can such perfect beauty last?
Amongst the destructive ingenuity of man?
So many would hope
for it last the eternity
that is their life.
But eternity it's not.