Creepy
Now the moonlight skims the watchtowers; piles of glass and steel and timber,
And it finds the rust dulled spikes on coils of wire which scrape the ground.
And it lands on gates and fence posts, now in shards; burned, torn and twisted,
And it bids the ruined huts, to cast dark shadows all around.
The site is overgrown, as the forest claims her own,
And she mutes each voice, each whisper from the past.
And the ghosts, of those who filled this war torn place, are hushed and stilled;
And the sound of gun fire fades away at last.
~0~