Tree'sonous Seasons: A Mysterious Well in an Orchard

("A Reverberating Wisdom… Underground")

Where shadows are bred, and the light softly dies,

A silent corruption, beneath ancient skies.

The fruit, once so vibrant, a blighted design,

A well in the orchard, a truth serpentine.

Its waters are still, a mirror of night,

Reflecting the stars, but holding no light.

The old farmer swore, with a quavering plea,

"This well has a hunger, for all that can be."

In seasons of budding, when emerald hues gleam,

The well's gentle shimmer, a treacherous dream.

It sings to the blossoms, a sweet, silent chime,

Lulling the naive, across seasons and time.

The roots of the apple, the cherry, the pear,

Reach deep for its solace, unaware of the snare.

The farmer, once hopeful, now hollow and wan,

Pulled by the current, since dawn's early span.

Then comes the full summer, ablaze with bright sun,

The orchard's sweet bounty, for everyone.

But down in the well, a strange silence does keep,

While secrets unspoken, run terribly deep.

The fruit, once so vibrant, now bears a faint blight,

A subtle corruption, in the fading light.

And those who would gather, with baskets so wide,

Feel chilling foreboding, they cannot quite hide.

A whisper of envy, a touch of pure greed,

Sowed in their spirits, a venomous seed.

As autumn descends, with a mournful embrace,

The well truly shows, its sinister face.

The leaves turn to crimson, then rust and decay,

Reflecting the victims, drawn into its sway.

For each thirsty soul, who sought comfort within,

Found their true self devoured, by a whispering sin.

The farmer, now weary, with hair white as snow,

Knows the well's ancient hunger, and how it will grow.

"It feeds on our sorrows, our fears, and our plight,"

He croaked to the wind, in the deepening night.

So heed this grim truth, let its rhythm resound,

Beware the sweet waters, on hallowed ground.

For the orchard's dark well, with its tempting facade,

Is a "Tree'sonous Season," a cursed, ancient god.

It drains all your hope, your joy, and your might,

Leaving you hollow, in perpetual night.

The fruit may look perfect, the blossoms so keen,

But a terrible price, for its beauty is seen.

And those who succumb, to its silent, dark lure,

Will become its next harvest, forever impure.

With A Reverberating Wisdom…
Underground