Twenty-nine Men
by Tim Reed
Grey snow smothers a dying earth
twenty-nine men walking
gnarled, black spectres on the ground
twenty-nine men walking
A blood-red moon dangles precariously from its perch
twenty-nine men walking
seemingly bent on sinister intent
twenty-nine men walking
weapons cling to their sides in the grey of twilight
twenty-nine men walking
the maleficent nebulous forms confuse me
twenty-nine men walking
suddenly a light removes my confusion
twenty-nine pines resting
roots for motion, needles for weapons
twenty-nine pines resting
...but are they?
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