The desolate tree, crooked and bent,
stands hunched in the barren sun over
cracked, broken, maltreated earth.
Clouds of leaden weight converge
near in the distance, but the clear
and tranquil blue heaven up high
lies of a beautiful day to come in
a precariously whispered wind.
Shadows stretch out like vicious
black spider webs, entangling;
escape was an impossible dream.
Fragments of twigs lay scattered,
the desert blankets covering the
fallen timber soldiers. Their hard
sable flesh dries as they rest in
a harsh graveyard burnt by the
malicious kiss of the sun’s shine.
Mournful, loathsome, the sight of
nature’s cruelty is too unsound. |
