It will end, terminate

When the Lark drifts out of tune.

This will signal the coming silence,

When the grave will hush everything.

There will be no pressure.

The trees will lighten in weight.

Then redundant nests will fall.

The the bark will be their tombstone.

And skeletal memories will fade

And the song of the air will be lost.

And the changes will be profound

In a world where there is no sound.

C 2018 Christopher Thompson.

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