The Wolf’s Lair
On the Potomac a golden skinned king declared a palace built for his pleasure on the ashes of the country he laid low. But time heals all things
The paved lawns crumble into dark, damp soil as forgotten seeds push through the ancient stone, tearing down the fences to let the forest claim the grand porticoes. Oak and Kudzu weave through halls where balls were held and treasures looted. Moss and thick, tangled vine, scour away the once gilded floors .
Bison roam where velvet ropes once marked the path for guided tours . Wolves call out across the night from the ruins of the Oval Office door. Great rivers break through marble barriers to carve out newborn streams, drowning out the lingering echoes of lost human schemes.
No speeches break the silent air, no guards stand watch upon the lawn. Only the quiet rustle of leaves beneath the breaking dawn can be heard .The crown of power falls away, at last surrendered to the earth. Nature reclaims her rightful throne and buries the restless past.
