Poem – “In the Fir Grove”

In the Fir Grove

Sinister silence in the fir grove
Hearth isn’t lit, no children are home
Echo of no one’s boots crunching the snow
Where the unleashed frost hunts me down
Alone but stalked through the wilderness
The sun has turned off for permanently
Creeping ice webs branches, grasping out arms
Hear reverberating groan of the north wind
Endless, angry as the heads buried in the ice
Safety is dead as the unlucky wanderers
Melting to sludge when the lake thaws at last
Even I may be one of their party by now

Copyright ©2018 S. M. Shuford
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