Ragged green soldiers
don chitin helmets
hunkered down in
the muck
The whipping winds
of late frost
collaborate
with enemy juggernauts
decimating the ranks
and scattering shells
in a terrible
dance of chaos
Leaping siege engines
pick troops out of columns
and just as quickly
steam away
But, just then,
the clouds tear open
in an explosive blast
of solar artillery
Perihelions chase off
the frost,
and placate the savage
half-starved squirrels
A private in the garden army,
chancing to leave his armor
holds out a fibrous hand
and catches the warmth
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