Stands Those deer stands You start to see When the trees start Losing their leaves Were there all summer Cloaked in the general green Suffering a crisis Of purpose For what are they for Once the door Of the season swings closed? Maybe a boy Run out of the house By shouting Climbs the rungs driven Dead into the trunk To sit in the privacy Of assassins before The first shot Rings out The only tree houses Of a darker culture
Stands
Stands
Stands
Stands Those deer stands You start to see When the trees start Losing their leaves Were there all summer Cloaked in the general green Suffering a crisis Of purpose For what are they for Once the door Of the season swings closed? Maybe a boy Run out of the house By shouting Climbs the rungs driven Dead into the trunk To sit in the privacy Of assassins before The first shot Rings out The only tree houses Of a darker culture