Sorry, there’s no more horns-a-plenty.
took a forest, a species, a river dam(n)ed.
Every new screen flattened a mountain.
It’s never been gathering but taking:
our monkey-paw grasp
ever exceeded our reach.
Image: Death Comes to the Banquet Table (Memento Mori), circa 1635, by Giovanni Martinelli, via Wikimedia Commons. A quadrille for dverse where Lillian has asked us to use the word ‘gather’. A quadrille is a poem with exactly 44 words (admittedly I took a few liberties with the hyphen – but 44 words it is). And in keeping with this gloomy spirit, here’s Phoebe Killdeer and the Short Straws with The Fade Out Line (the video is a hoot :-))