Deep in the woods lies a snare,
where the edge of life abruptly.
Carved rock a deep scar mark,
cunningly cuts the course bluntly.
A vertical leap, a droppings heap,
silently signals foreboding danger.
The tracking hound never found,
a mystery that was stranger.
Deep below in crystal-clear flow,
the rotting wreckage of a life.
No sound heard, nothing disturbed,
a stillness as sharp as the knife.
While time passes, memory lapses,
and calmness replaces strife.
But deep below, beneath life's flow,
the dread of death still arises.
A myth in the night, terrible fright,
the reality of the dream surprises.