Wooden skeletons Silhouetted by unblinking eye Somber light obfuscate through ghastly spirits The smell of bemired mother frondose shallow graveyard Winter is near.
Originally this was a simple observation of a chilly Autumn night. Then, as I was looking over the piece, I glanced to my left at the copy of Jim Morrison's "Wilderness" on my desk. Needless to say, the poem took a different shape afterwards.