The ground shakes, the wind stops, and
the birds vanish, as a mammoth walks through.
Slowly, alone, he walks, over the hills,
through the woods, past the lakes and creeks
on his march towards Death Valley.

His strides weaken, and he slows as
birds circle. Delicately, he falls.
Slowly, alone, he lays and comes to rest.
For eternity he will stay, untouched and preserved.
In the valley of death, he lays.

Uncovered and revealed, the brush sweeps back the dust,
naked and exposed, treated like the most delicate china.
Now covered with eyes and pointing fingers, he stands tall
like he had centuries before. And here, he will forever remain.
Recovered from death valley, he’ll stay.