Death in the Woods
The taste of many
brittle years already spread
Across paddocks without a drop of
rain
Is bitterness profound as Death
begins to tread
Upon the graves of names which still
remain.
Death is slowly passing through the
woods alone
With many kinds of trees becoming
prone
To loss of grip among the ageing
leaves
Succumbing to the might which Death
receives.
The air surrounding Death becomes so
strong
As winds impose a sense of might
upon each tree.
The branches shaking left and right,
belong
To the dance of Death declaring how
all things should be.
The curse which came upon the ones
who died
With wounds inflicted by the sword
of pride
Is kept beneath the ground until the
day
Death decides to spread to other
forms of prey.