A Decaying

through the trees we felt the autumn,

as the green turned into red,

but our reason turned to madness,

and our hopefulness to dread —


summer flew off into sunset,

smoke came from the distant hills,

battles raged and love fragmented,

conflicts of opposing wills —


then: the river, overflowing,

touched trees with hints of flood,

as the forest rang in gladness,

and the autumn spread

in blood

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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