NESTLED AMID AN OLD FOREST,
AMONG TALL SPRUCE AND PINES;
TOTALLY ISOLATED FROM MANS’ WORLD,
NEAR A TUMBLING BROOK, THE CABIN RECLINES.
DESERTED IN THIS REMOTE, SECRET PLACE,
HIDDEN FROM SIGHT IN THE SECLUSION;
A SAGGING SYMBOL OF BYGONE DAYS,
NOW DECAYING, AND FADING, INTO RUINATION.
THE DOOR HANGING BY ONE RUSTY HINGE,
NEVERMORE USED TO KEEP IN THE WARM.
ROOF ROTTING AND COLLAPSING INWARD,
NO LONGER ABLE, TO RESIST THE STORM.
IN THIS SOLITARY ALONENESS, A TRAPPER LIVED;
A RECLUSE, TIRED OF CIVILIZATION.
THE CREEK SERVED HIS WATER NEEDS,
A WINCHESTER RIFLE SUPPLIED HIS SATIATION.
NOW ON THE BUNK, HIS BONES REPOSE,
STILL SCANTILY CLAD WITH BUCKSKIN.
HIS SIGHTLESS SKULL TURNED TO ONE SIDE;
A SILENT TRIBUTE, TO HIS DEVOTION.
RETURNING TO WHERE IT ORIGINATED,
THE CABIN WILL SLOWLY CRUMBLE.
THE SHUTTERLESS WINDOWS STARE BLANKLY,
QUIETLY WAITING, FOR THE INEVITABLE.
1995 BY WAYNE J. WAGAR
