So determined to make our mark;
To leave some trace that proves
We were present, we existed,
We brought something to life — or death —
That might never have changed,
Had we not actively interfered.
But nature — moss, or waves, or rain,
Grass or weeds or simply time —
Will do its best to cover up our tracks —
At least, that’s what we used to hope,
But now, faced with the heat and fires
We wonder if we haven’t gone too far,
Damaged too much for nature to recover.
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