I sit and stare into the distant flames of the shining stars. I think about what was once to be seen. I long for the forgotten beauty of the world that has past, it is now colourless and ashen like the hearts of people which inhabit it. I sit beside the fire and think of all that I might of seen, the meadows and forests of old, the summers and winters that were their own, and not polluted by our bitterness and ignorance. I imagine the autumns, with morning mist and silver sun, and the leaves falling around me, surrounding me in the stench of their death. It used to be death for a new beginning, but now it is just death, this is the end. I look out into the night sky and dream, when winter comes there will be no spring left for me to see. As I gaze into the unfathomable abyss, I think of the people long ago, those people who have seen that which will never see my eyes. But there is beauty left still within this world, just that which I will never know, I'll never see those waterfalls, those forests and those sites. For I sit here and think of times that went before, I listen for returning feet and death's knock upon my door.