Soon every mountain will become a carved thing
A head or pressing heroes or marching men with flags
Every face of rock is just a canvas, ready to ring
the greatness of the dead forever out of rocky slag;
Since every stone will be carved to be memorials,
naturally, the birds and insects will evolve --
they dance already on the statues in arboreal
parks, and will someday specialize where stone dissolves
into faces, and every nostril is a nest, and every strong chin
overhangs a shadow, shelters stone birds and insects
these future natives of a country all built of memory,
will erode it, in time, where excessive breeding breeds neglect;
The storms will come, and earthquakes, too, and scatter
all these great men dead in echoless shatters
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