I watched the moon behind the trees Float in a sea of sky. The aspen whispers in the breeze, The rest is silence now. And I Can feel my loneliness around Me fall. No human face There is. None speaks. Never a sound Save whispering leaves in this place. I have two friends, and they are dead, Perhaps about their graves Are trees that whisper overhead, While in the grass the nettle waves.
– T.H.W. Armstrong, 1919