iman_kksih.
The Sabbath comes.
For six continuous weeksThe weeds have grown
Crackling its way like rogue tongues of flame, swath upon swath, choking the undergrowth.
The air within the entwining bush had long turned heavy, damp and stale from the rot in the roots barely seen___beneath the scraggly branches ___brittle with age.
Curls of raw heat
crept up the ragged pile of sticks.
And then there were two
Noses without sense nor scent
They came to rest,
Lulled by the sinking sun.
A feathered head arose
High enough
away from the fermentation below.
And then there were two
Contented by their roost
Basking in the warmth
Above the rising bed of death.
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