On waking,

she shivered a rainbow 

upon the knoll where bodies lay.

Yawning flowers took note,

flaunting their colours as a veil.

Her fingers dug deep into the fertile soil

until she could feel the root.

The old oak swaying its gnarly arms.

The moss, so moist and sweet, sang.

She could hear the breeze whistling  the grass.

A lullaby of morning dew.

From the forest over yonder,

the cracking of bark, 

and the snapping of tree bones 

signalled the stirring of life.

Beneath her ethereal caress

the bodies also stirred, 

restless and unknowing.

He would be back soon.

She could feel the decay of his aura.

The approach of shallow breath.

A new seed would be planted

for her to tend to.

And then another, and another.

Until fate would become his undoing.

And his undoing 

would be hers to tend.