the dead wood

The dead wood

Lying on the ground

Barely breathing in the air

As the light slowly reflects away

It has fallen

During the thunderstorm

Lashing on the shores and forests

The unlucky few dropped or cut into shapes

The dead wood agents

They are still warming up the ground

In time the attack will begin

Unless the dead wood can breathe its roots

The woodcutter hunts in the forest

Collecting wood for the cold weather

The dead wood has no such luck

The woodcutter cuts into logs and ties it up

In the forest

The deadly wind whisper

The woodcutter quickly makes home

Across the river to safe haven