Where the Trees are Shellshocked
A strange autumn this, with its closed fisted,
hollow fruitfulness.
Ashen drapes shroud listless maples, a sky
reluctant to color its face.
A hostile pestilence has worn out
the pith of those who still survive.
War has beat itself upon our shores,
and the dragons of earth and sky
have allied themselves
to the hidden worms.
The unripe fall far too soon.
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