Dusk 

Millennia have seen me thrive upon, what men call Merritt Island
and

A trickle of time moved me to the nearby marshes along St. John's
River.

My frail, dark and tiny outline kept me forever close to these -
                            the breeding grounds of my ancestors.

As the wingless one gathered flight and left for the skies,

He bequeathed us these dark hot clouds
                                               as a token
                     of his indifference.

As our breaths faltered

                          I alone, remained -

trapped behind massive screens
                              and turned into an act for fools.

How I longed for the marshlands and cherished my brisk pursuits
through the hedges.

But with each passing dawn
                                  my vision weakened

and my body yearned for the winds.

Alas,
     no longer.

Who shall weep for me ?

When my name is called

I will not reply

For I
          am
                 no more.