In the forest where leaves have fallen, but still
Those remaining shine beautiful and bright.
Filled with fine dust, appears dark and dusk,
The sky even in the morning light.
A smoky and smothery, pungent odor
Pierces deep in the nostril,
As winter arrives, by the burning coal,
The lousiness approaches like the spectral.
(Apr. 21st, 2024, Kinsley Lee)