A Planted Sapling
Wind whistles through the air,
sliding through a window,
giving ghastly moans
as I lie in my bed.
Eyes clenched shut,
ears blocked with pillows,
yet the sound penetrates:
a long moan, “murrrrr”
Screaming, I flee
from the antagonist window,
only to find the breeze
sneaks into every room.
Outside I run,
to an old mound of dirt
that I filled myself,
three years past.
This mound for a sapling
now growing in stature,
but in goes my shovel,
again to dig.
So I stare at the hole
I have just made
with filthy fingers
and shuddering back.
The wind blows loud in my ears,
and I see a withered face
crawling with insects,
as its bloodless lips exhale
“…derrrr”
The wind blows me off my feet,
into the hole I fall
to be covered by the dirt
I used to plant a sapling.
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