Wooded Stream

the crisp flow,
of a wooded stream,
cherished in the summer morn,

quiet whispers,
of things to come,
lurking in the darkness,

what now is peace,
will soon be terror,
for time takes no prisoner,

as the thunderous crashing,
of roaring water,
breaks the tranquil bank,

gruesome vengeance,
engulfs the retched,
as nothing escapes the storm,

destruction reigns,
heart ache follows,
then everything goes quiet.