Through the Brush by Michael Morck II

Caressing his arms the leaves part
Makig way for the marching man
Ensnaring him the vines beg him to stop
Off he moves cutting them off.
Never once giving them a second thought.
Make way for the marching man.
The earth grasps at his feet attempting an
To keep him from marching away from this
His legs dart out from the earth
and he escapes the brush.
The bullet makes way for the marching man
And the whole forest cries out in pain.
Once again the earth embraces him.
The brush hides his face.
The Marching Man now marches in place.