Beau Navire Bare Trees
Ghastly this place has become. Once a sacred place of
old, beautiful and tranquil. This unnatural disease has
left your limbs bare. No room to breathe, no chance to
give. The wind like waves buries the land. It hurts to
know that you’re no longer full of life and dancing. No
color, no emotion. The raspy shrill of agony is heard by
no one. These bare trees bear no fruit.
