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.