POEM: Unceasing Jungle

The jungle paints the ruins green —
brown blocks are made verdant.
So, you can’t see its ordered shape
’til you part the curtain
of palms and vines and mammoth leaves
that hide those old remains —
once hacked back by muscled men who,
daily, took great pains
to clear the rampant jungle growth
out beyond moat and berm.
‘Til the invading army won,
and Fort was deemed infirm.

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