Travel

As my horse galloped through the hazy fog,
increasingly we found ourselves lost in a wooded bog.
As we cautiously meandered onward, I twisted my head left and right.
I caught a dreadful auspice in my sight.
Overhead, I spotted in my eye a flock of blackbirds' flight.

As my horse trotted, it crunched against the ground's shriveled leaves.
I approached another dead end, and I wondered what sordid tales my misfortune would next weave.
Trees reached out and blocked my path with their branches throughout the night.
I unsheathed my sword from its scabbard and lashed at them with all my might.

With my handkerchief, I wiped my forehead soaked with sweat from the heat.
I looked around and saw a wolf lying dead in the acidic peat.
With no skeleton exposed, it was a perfectly preserved boneless sack of skin and meat.
It was the month of September, in the midst of fall.
I scanned the the horizon for a smoking chimney, something that would signify civilization's call.

Before I could continue my journey, unaware,
I toppled off my horse and found it dangling from a hunter's snare.
I continued along my path by foot.
Soon my boots became weighted with peat and soot.

If I had brought a map, maybe I'd have had better luck.
In the bog I died, face-down forever in the muck.