The Reign of Death
Black battalions
Loom large
And march across the darkening hills
Sweeping away the light.
It is then they unleash
Their strafing salvoes
Flattening the standing stalks
With their drenching drops.
Once they have exhausted
Their arsenal
They smoothly scatter to reveal
The healing light.
The shedding warmth
Dries out the air
Leaving the corpses of crops
Clearly embedded in the dust.
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