Among this early field of emerald eyes,
Where a silent sigh embraces all,
And double glazed trees do tickle the skies,
Awakens unweeded a well-known brawl.
Where all at once the leaves aren’t fresh,
And the darkness comes, yet shadows still lie,
The green is black and it poisons flesh,
Inside the remains of the passer-by.
The black blood seeps through the hollow snakes,
Entangling ghosts of grey around air,
The concrete trees capture prey as they wake,
And drains their mind, as they work in despair.
But soon after the quiet essence of morning
Is evaporated from the overgrown field,
She returns to her slumber in the mist of work’s warning,
Because now all is busy, rush hour has spilled.
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