Pondering and the Dead Forest

A person in a dead forest, pondering many things.

As I sit alone here in this dead forest,
I ponder the thought of sitting here forever,
Would the trees stay dead?
Would they ever once again sprout new buds,
And grow deep roots.

I ponder this as I watch a twig fall from the tallest of the trees,
As it falls, I see that others follow suit,
The branches are bone dry and fragile,
So they fall to pieces as they fall towards the ground.

They barely make a whisper of a noise,
As they hit the surface,
And I begin to ponder where all the animals have gone.

I suppose a dead forest needs animals,
Or do the animals have no need for a dead forest?
I ponder this as I watch a piece of bark being moved across the dirt floor.

The ants were interesting creatures,
And I watched as they went back and forth,
Carrying large pieces of bark to their nest.

I look up and shield my eyes as the sun shines down,
And ponder why the trees no longer grow,
And the animals no longer thrive.

I ponder why the ants still call the dead forest home,
I ponder why they do not live in a more abundant forest,
One with many different things, animals, plants, weather changes, etc.
I ponder why, even after the forest has died, the ants stay.

Then, as the sun hides behind the cumulus clouds,
I cease to ponder and continue my trek through the dead forest.