Dark trees bleed blood;
So red, that it seems black.
Ebony leaves are now sprung;
And fill the sky with their growth.
The blades of grass are like stone;
And appear from the moist earth.
There is only night in this black spring;
Everything is thought to be made of marble.
Animals are as scarce as shadows;
There is nothing so violent as life.
Sounds come alive and move with the landscape;
I'm lost in this seasons grip.















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