A pumpkin with nowhere else to grow.His planter – a firm foundation among enemy crows.The core replaced.It can’t stop pumping full throttle – water from his belly, a Spirit not from a bottle.Though his scars of jack o’ lantern’s past remain, a chained captive with the keys to fire and blood he became. Soon his rind will rot and wither, but the frame built will stand forever.The crows cut him down and his death was solemn, but with His water delivered, the wasteland will rejoice and blossom.
