Poem: Remains | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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Poem: Remains 

Remains

Three hundred years from now
when my teeth are all that's left of me,
having long since cracked and fallen
to the back of my skull,
I will no longer have
an ear to lend. And nature,
her back bent taut
under man's undiscerning hand
will moan unheard.
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