Absence shouts once
where Adam stood proudly.
Towering over our natural history.
The mystery of a missing frown,
who’s lips may swear,
‘look upon my works, ye mighty,
And despair!’
Beneath the stones, entombed,
Perch a thousand kiwis,
Twelve ivory tusks,
Thirty static, pinned bees.
The shipwrecked arc
in the centre of London,
stands a memorial
to the things we have done.
York St John Pollination Project 