The branches seem to weep endlessly,

They drip with unquestionable honesty,

This place reminds me of something closer to home.

The leaves have fallen long ago,

An eeriness aches through the forest.

A bitter taste that is left in my mouth,

The moss seems to spread like shadows.

The vines are pulled taut and relentless,

Stretching like capillaries round the heart.

The river flows too fast,

Life seems gone from this place,

Like trees in November…