The fog rolled in, it hid the ground,
It swallowed street and muffled sound.
A knocking came, a door of dread,
It waited where no foot had tread.
I crossed the threshold, heart aflame,
The orchard groaned as if in shame.
Its trees bore skulls where apples hung,
Their mouths like shadows, silently sung.
A crown of roots encircled me,
And whispered what the price would be.
Crows circled slow, with patient eyes,
Their wings eclipsing pale gray skies.
For every step, a soul to pay,
The orchard feasts, none walk away.
I staggered back, yet could not flee,
Each row became a path to me.
The fog returned, it pressed me tight,
And whispered, “Welcome… to the endless night.”
But somewhere deep, a flicker burned,
A single step, a path discerned.
I staggered forth, my breath a prayer,
And left the orchard’s hollow lair.
The door is gone, yet still it waits,
Beyond the fog, behind the gates.
And if you hear a knocking near,
Beware the orchard drawing near.
