The Battle
Prepared for battle, backs to the sun
The phalanx stood before me
Hundreds of tall, thin wooden warriors
Against sharp spikes and fingers that scratched
I mounted my attack, into a blinding sun
One by one, wooden warriors fell
One-hundred, two-hundred, three-hundred, more
I cut them down and laid them low
They fought until they hit the ground
They scratched, they poked, they cut
Sweat mixed with blood stung my wounds
Red drops fell on wooden warriors
I piled one on top of another
I felled the last one standing
Victorious, I turned and walked away
I had to cut down the elm trees and wild plums so I could have access to the irrigation ditch. An annual battle I fight against these fast growing trees.
Dos X
X
Planes alive
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