The Mystery of the Bag of Bones

A bag of bones tucked in the trees, Nestled against the fence, Camouflaged by branches and leaves, Heavy with the weight of death. It tells a story of mystery, No longer here in this world, but in the stillness of the bones— Once a living, breathing form. An animal of sorts, Fallen prey, Once roaming the orchard, Living off the land, Day in, day out, Surviving at best, hiding at rest. The land that nourished life Now provides a resting place For the weary bones that will turn to dust— The bag, opened by predators, Animal instinct in survival mode, A gust of wind scattering the bone dust Back into the food chain. A once-living creature, now fertilizing the earth. The cycle of life continues Through all the seasons. No longer a mystery; the bones, now dust, lie Beneath the apple trees.