Young, but brittle bark—

trees sprout anew

in this wood

of loss.

.

Walk through the grey mist—

see the grizzly sights

of women's

dark plights.

.

Saturated dirt—

soggy with blood.

Tear a branch

to hear.

.

Trickle down tree legs—

blood sings the song—

maids fell prey

to men.

.

Never will they move far—

rooted in the mire

concocted

by lust.