Imagining the world after it has ended is quite an odd thing.
Like snapping open a tree, just to see its rings.
Who cares of its age? She’s not going anywhere.
The enticing intoxication of her pollen showing her wear and tear.
She will engulf all the cars, bring all the animals back.
She will birth flowers and spring, everything the city lacks.
She will restore and make reborn, all she needs is time.
Plants apple, and oranges, kiwis, and limes.
Our mother will know everything her earth needs,
ants, caterpillars, moths, and bees.
Firs, birch, palms, pine, evergreen trees.
With all the bushes it will be a tight squeeze.
The subway will have never-ending vegetation.
She’ll send a tornado through on some occasions.
The deers will roam, the lions will swim in pools in the night.
Snow will blanket the fields with winter’s first bite.
She’ll outlast, through the death of all humanity,
Lived again through the climate change insanity.
She’s everywhere yet hiding all the time.
Around airports she’ll sneak some insects and vines.
When the crater comes with the winter again,
all magic and strength she’ll gladly spend.
Ready and simmering for her timely rebirth.
Nature is a phoenix that our mother’s unearthed.