the wild cherry lies half hidden beneath a scaled root
an ancient finger reaching in gnarled arboreal hunger
it fell ripened red with a side of yellow but would sour the tongue
though the oak might seek that tang as a bracing relief
from the sweetness of rotting things
the land beyond the fence belongs to untamed plants and feral creatures
and all that reach whatever end moulder there
leaves joining fur and bones in the fecund of decay
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