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