We mapped the stars with trembling, ink-stained hands,
Convinced the earth would bow beneath our claim.
We carved our names on granite and drifting sands,
And raised proud cities, certain of their fame.

We crowned ourselves the autocrats of the age,
Declared all life our servant and our stage.
We subdued the rivers, caged the restless breeze,
And turned wild forests into memories.

Yet every triumph bore a hidden cost—
The birchwoods gone, the ancient rivers lost.
Now, in the ruins, silent willows weep
For worlds we vanquished—ours alone to keep,
Blind to the graves we sowed beneath our feet.