I gaze at the forest where smoke does rise,
Where what once stood now to ash complies.
Where the river hangs gray beneath the sky,
And all that's lived in particles will die.

I look to the crowns of the blackened trees,
Where particles rage in the ashen breeze,
Flying high to a sky where they're obscured and weighed.
A wind indifferent, carries what’s decayed.

There’s no sound to break the air.
Nothing disturbs the silence there....