Colony
By Anonyme
Wed, 07 Apr 2010
- 487 reads
The suntanned brown of the soft wood
Circling a swarm...
They cannot leave and whilst it collapses, we feel the memory form;
Yes, they'll be dead in seconds
Perhaps no-one will remember
But their memory of yesterday last's
Burning through the forest, an ember
All swirls, a breeze disturbs the trees
The dying breaths travel far,
The souls of colonies...
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