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Haggard and pithy,

Soft wind yawning, leaves lustrous,

Plumes looming in drear

Where arthritic hands

Punch through the death, strewn,

‘Neath the fernery.

Insects creep and probe,

Below-

Clamber Ebbing Light,

Gallant spores leeching Ant’s brain-

Cranium Garden.

Such is Nature’s pain,

Sometimes,

In this brittle sacrifice-

Tender mist of spores spills down

From doleful heavens.

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