Today – they mowed the grass.
The jungle is vanished; the leaf-temples
Subject to expedition,
Have given up their mystery air.
No more, the emerald; no more, altars where
Unimaginable rites were –
All this lies shattered, buried
Piles of grass and topiary
Of doom. Tomorrow –
The hunter-gatherers move in.
And you can bet I’ll be surveying their campfires through my binoculars. From the safety of the balcony.