Because you probably cannot read that...
Swinging here,
in this empty space
a void in time.
Slowly the sounds
come into existence
surrounding me.
The trees grow above
until they tower over.
The birds use these giants
as their play ground.
The grasses die before me
as the sun sets.
The birds, also,
use this graveyard
as their homestead.
The Barberry's leaves
have disappeared, but
I do not see
any birds playing
on such a bush.
(I made a few changes to the poem as I was typing this out)