Hovering there between two trees,
That colorful cocoon and a rest
So gentle like the breeze, it
Seemed to quiet even the most
Annoying of sounds coming from a
Strange, yet familiar dogwood tree.
Through a mask of weathered age
It spoke quick, pulling nails
To end the suspension of it's
Own future of sheltering this
Devil and his growing army
Of forgetful men. Fire is heaven
And steel a living hell and the
Roots keep growing, even after death.
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