Twixt the spring’s time is nigh
Will I be drowned
And to the unhuman eyes I say good bye
(gargled through my own blood as I choke).
At first I will be blissfully unaware;
That my meandering within the pristine Alberta forest
Will lead to a psychotic ninja squirrel lair,
To which no man must know.
The assault will be brutal and fierce,
Without second to protect or defend,
The soft flesh of my throat will those razor’d incisors pierce,
The five furred warriors ensuring my silence.
Just below a tree’d burrow
Lies my skull
Buried half ‘neath in a furrow;
Gnawed from its rightful place.
Twas no quickened endeavor
Nay, the hours passed slow
‘til finally the throaty sinews did sever;
weakened, unwhole, ribboned.
My headless corpse maggotly being consumed into mush
(hastened by the bright summer sun)
will soon fall through it’s cradling bush,
leaving no trace I was even upon the Earth.
All too soon afterward the search party will accept
That contrary to my yearly solitary sojourn experience,
My luck at survival finally proven not to be as adept,
And forever I will rest uncovered from nature’s wrath.