pale Mushroom caps sprouting out of a rotting Trunk, which lingers in the motionless cloudy Brook
a Blue-jay's raucous laughter blaring like an aged hollow trumpet
wilting Leaves fall into the Muddy emerald ooze below
The ancient Ash Tree is a weathered sentinel, frozen at it's post
i pace myself, carefully staring down at the Earth
while the Locusts' lonely drone echos in the darkening Branches
and a breezy whisper glides through my ears
"The melody of Those footsteps, have I heard this before?"
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