Fungus
A slow progress through the countryside
Breeze-carried through the air
Whispering, a gentle breath
Infection, invisible and insidious
Creeping, hidden, unseen movement
Bringing disease and certain death
A tiny fungus, just a spoor
Microscopic, beyond perception
Multiplying, growing quickly
Inside the branches and the leaves
Spreading, covering its victims
A landscape dying, wheezing, sickly
Trees ailing, falling, humbled
By the contagion in the country
Cut back, thrown upon the fire
A forest with holes in, open to the sky
The ashes slowly die back
And burn fierce upon the pyre
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