Sickened
The gypsy moth’s nest
clung like cotton candy, spun sugar;
wet and weighty to the pendulous boughs,
of white birch and maple
a deadly adornment shrouding the forest
in an air of decay.
A miasma of atmosphere
Muffled the morn;
dampening the resolve
mystifying the mundane
multiplying the cloying scent
of fallen leafs;
solidifying the webs of moth and man
unifying the monochrome scene.
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