Well, I'm afraid this may be horrible, and I'll sound foolish.
Beautiful Peter.

There is light in the wood, and life
No love or remembrance -
Those things are of the others, and pass.

Decay is life to that which dreams of tomorrow,
Death to that which dreams only of today

The tumbledown shack,
What was and could have been,
Melts into forest dreams of tomorrow.

Vines will silence banging doors;
Walls and roof will tumble,
And be replaced by living wood.
Moss will carpet all,
And this work of man will be reclaimed by forest dreams.