Here in the clearing where birds used to sing
I can see to the verges where, denser and darker,
Inching along the forest approaches,
Closer and closer to blot out the sun;
And the birds lift up over away
While I wait as the forest encroaches.
Thus rooted unmoving, no paths from the clearing,
I watch the trees creeping and wonder which one,
And how soon it will reach me and clutch me,
And choke me and cover me with leaves.