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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

The Fossil Fern

The Fossil Fern

Lift it gently, it was green once.
Honour it, it had the same life as you.
It was tall and strong once
lifting viridian fronds
against the adolescent sky
of a chaotic juvenile world,
still bright and hot with newness
from the celestial forges.

It lived once, as you do now,
and it died and fell, as you shall soon,
and gained this lithic immortality
-       As well may you.

And from under whose feet
will you look upwards,
a faint ghost stamped in stone,
a lost memory from an abyss of ages?

Whose eyes will you meet
under a senile, reddening sun?

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