The cricket’s nocturnal song was the only familiar sound giving them a hint of comfort as they waded through the swamp, cutting down the overgrown leaves and protruding roots upon their path. The moon’s bluish-grey glow made the foreign land seem more exotic than they had imagined, yet the sight of skeletons reaching out from the ground for help dispelled any notion that they were holidaying.
When you were thrown right into darkened, foul pits,
Each of which snatched your chilled-out cheer, chastised charm,
I wept, wondered if ever you’d sense the harm
Caused by ones that laughed, staring at you like kits;