November draws her blackened leaves 
back into the earth.
Hasn't it always been the end of the world?
Echoes, hammered into the head
from cut-down Edens, in faint pulses
die.
Survivors are none; disaster complete.
Veiled sunlight stalks the dark battlefield
and soon exhausted, turns away.
It leaves unnoticed a bud unlikely
as one green marble in all this space.
It turns out the end of the world
much discussed and predicted
is not so easy to achieve.
The best maniacal efforts fail again and again.
Every dawn chorus sings out renaissance
and enlightenment. However
perilous it may be, here's the road.