Felled limbs of trees decay in midst of mournful penstemon
Who loom with bowing heads; declaring kinship with rot
Gather like guides to usher the soul to soil.

Moss-encroached birch glower many-eyed against the procession,
wailing their laments by way of amanuensis through the wind-
The reapers’ petals shiver as breeze brings night in,
Where obsidian weeps it’s silver tears
And our lunar body returns ill light to illuminate with waxy veil
The corpse; It’s lichen strewn rind set lambent.


© Nathan Marc Adams

#WhisperingNature
@Writco