While sitting alone
I watch green fields turning white
With volcanic ash.

It's not nuclear winter
Just a super volcano.

Winter will be cold
From the atmospheric ash
That blocks the sunlight.

Not prepared for years-long snow
I reflect upon my life.

Excavating me,
What will they wish I had saved
For discovery?

Drove in ash to office stores,
I took archival paper.

Back at home I print
The things I'd wish to learn of
With my power wall.

The battery will not last
So I must print it quickly.

My print job is done.
Inside the safe I'll place it,
And seal it airtight.

Poetry and languages—
Gifts I'll send to our future.

The ash is rising.
It is getting hard to breathe.
Coughing much, I lay my head.