Ann Christine Tabaka writes

After Man

Nothing more exists, but the wind in the trees,

translated into whispers by vanishing time.

All that was is no more.

Spread thin with busyness and strife

there is nothing left to give to tomorrow.

The night swallowed up all. 

Red carpets and black limousines,

things of the past.

Books left open with no one to read.

Nature has taken over

with no thought of loss. 

The best will survive as it always has been.

Decaying structures,

a salute to the past.

The earth continues to spin.

The Open Book -- Juan Gris