If in one thousand years
Mutated humans find our bones
Scattered here and there across a hill;

They will never know those cold old bones
Could run for miles without a stop to rest -
And if one broke - that bone would heal

Much stronger than before the break;
And that we left what once was here,
The look of everything we felt

From observations made each day;
Like cotton-candy clouds in cluster rush
As winds cried out in literate despair

Over groups of gated houses all the same
With shake wood shingle ombiance
Toasted golden by the opulence of sun;

But then the bones within will all be gone
Along with all the shadows from the past
That might remind bone-finder kind - we mattered!

The danger, some might argue, is that we mattered too much. A good piece, Tom, I enjoyed the read.

Les

Tom,

Thoughtful, almost too optimistic [1000 years] and as always, fine piece of work.

Peter

But then the bones within will all be gone
Along with all the shadows from the past
That might remind bone-finder kind - we mattered!

the last one really struck me... we mattered!

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