Untitled ———————

An old beat-up Chevy resting down,
On a rich-soiled leafy mound,
Opening eyelids to the highest width,
With tremendous trinkets taking breath.

Through the window, rusted panes,
Exists a rather sinister array:

A plastic skeleton in a glamorous pose,
Glasses and gloves for a wintery show.

A sizable spider, known for a wicked bite,
Inanimate in this cool respite.

And laying on a leather seat,
A painting of a fallen lady.
“Who is she?” one may ask,
“A symbol of a violent crash?”

Past the Chevy and onto trails,
Leaving behind mysterious details.