88. March 29th
Dark shadows of tall trees,
Twisted bracken shooting out,
Dirty marshes filled with mud,
The woods beckon you in.
Withered flowers scattered about,
A small brook meanders unnecessarily,
A sparrow, unheard, makes a sound,
As you trundle through the woods.
A handful of scruffy feathers lie on the floor,
A flattened frog in the grass,
A large footprint in the soil,
You are next!