Harvest

It started with only one, as most things do.
He left us behind as surely as he was merely passing through,
But it was no more than the first,
A harbinger of what was to follow.
For he left the dead behind,
And worse yet, their living.
Yet they should not have mourned,
As they would soon join their beloved.

From the woods they came,
Like the monster out of a children’s fable.
Like wolves in the night,
Though wolves they were not,
And in the night,
They devoured all in their path,
For they have miles to go before they sleep.
And they hunger.