When I'M Far Poem by Peter Black

And when I'm far from human hands
Metal beams; wires with electric heads,
Where worlds of grass hide uncut feet;
Pine and oak champion softer seeds
To grow rough and thick shrubs and vines:
Verdant walls in maze like lines;
Far from human wants and human pains
Of loss, need, want and never again,
When life and death are held on stems,
So strange it seems to be a living thing:
My soft flesh beside eternal trees—
And I can hear my thought,
Until an engine wakes me from afar.