A walk in the rain past a fallen oak
|The rain keeps falling,
'til all is mud and water,
and the marsh laps at concrete buildings,
like a sea risen from the deep earth.
Roots slip in sodden soil,
a mighty oak falls,
three centuries ended by a dive,
into the doomsday mirror of the waters.
History is flicked over,
by a child's wet fingers,
as the newborn swamp rises,
heeding a more ancient call.
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