By Yarrula
A cold wind blows.
Its whips the cloak of the creature
Bent down in the woodlands.
Dries the tears
That have formed on the cheeks.
Stirs the old autumn leaves.
A friend has fallen,
Was here, now lost forever.
But memory lives on.
Earthly remains,
Now embraced by the soil,
At their final rest.
The Dark Forest
Has accepted one more.