Sonnet

The wind howled the wind moaned all through the forest
The grass blew the trees shook through the night
Unrelenting none were permitted rest
In the final hour nature makes its plight

The moon shone casting shadows through the woods

They played they danced with the trees the branches
Making faces pictures much as they could
These were the last to take their chances

There a man stood standing tall and silent

He braved the wind the howls the torments
He walked into the glade ready for violence
His mind readying for the performance

There stood still decrepit his ancient foe

Waiting for eternity for his end
As they stand silent waters start to glow
Silence enters the world of these once friends

A leaf drops twig cracks initiates fight

In the final hour they makes their plight