Petals falling like stars
A fate much fortunate,
The date most peculiar to the unwarranted event,
Trees, twisted and grotesque, bear gold fruits, with zesty skins and bitter, thick juices.
Crimson clotted on cracked lips,
And eyes rimmed with black tears
Saltless and swimming with tar and rosemary,
She slovenly danced in the spritz of laughing rain,
Her hair in knotted braids and dress splattered with ichor–
Rowan fled the fast pace life
To bury her wilting roots, ingrained and hooked
Into the earth, suckingly sweet sap pumping profusely,
Lying woodenly beside her trunk,
Head buzzing with disease and her limbs torn and healing,
She succumbed to the killing of the forest,
The children of the leaves, and the moaning of the souls who were murdered in their sleep-
A menagerie of oddities and bumbling nitwits,
She was home, long before she fell asleep.