Dead Trees A group of dead trees still stand in the woods, With thin, brittle fibers jutting up from the soft ash and dust. Their ghostly pale and charred bodies seem to float upright in the heavenly glow of the moon, An owl lands on a twisted branch, Which supports the creature with creaks and moans, The owl coos in return, And glares at the#moonwith fiery eyes, Wishing the#moonhad arrived sooner, Sooner, And broke the sun's fiery rays before it was too late.
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