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
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014
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