A bright sun shone dappled through
a forest of browning leaves.
The man walked on,
crunching fallen branches underfoot.
He came to a stop.
The shed was old,
a peeling white,
once merry, now deceased.
He wandered forward to touch the wood,
smelling rot and feeling decay.
The door squeaked open,
beckoning him inside its decrepit body.
The stench of death followed swiftly behind him.
Darkness greeted his sight first.
And then his eyes fell upon the rusty scythe.
Creeping over to it,
it smiled at him with bloody teeth.
Winking slyly with every step he took,
it reflected to him pain and suffering.
He pondered all of the horror it saw,
this deadly metal thing.
The wonder could still be seen in his eyes,
when the Reaper took his head.
