There are secrets in the forests,
Stories that never may be told
Clothed in that air of permanence
Of a forest sinister and old.
Where did all the fleeing go,
Disappeared from history's sight
Leaving far behind
Their magic city of light
To be taken and occupied
By greenery and trees,
Animals and birds
Insects and wild bees,
For a thousand years or more
Until curious Westerners appeared
When with effort and time
The magic city was cleared.
And so we walk in their steps
Speculate on what made them go
But speculate as we may
We'll never really know.
The magic city stands,
Proud and alone
Monument to the frailty of life,
The enduring quality of stone,
The rise and fall of empires,
Their transience,
And the thousand years
That city stood in silence.
Forests are old and patient,
Exist on time scales of their own
Eventually capturing and, even
Toppling, Man's creations in stone.
