Weird Tales/Volume 10/Issue 6/The Jungle
For works with similar titles, see Jungle.
THE JUNGLE
The snakelike vines reach out on every side,
Weaving a swing where chimpanzees may ride
And chatter in the sullen, lifeless noon
While all about the purple shadows swoon.
The crumbling logs of trees lie everywhere,
Encrusted with rare orchids here and there—
Deceiving bits of loveliness to lure
Unwary feet that brave the sodden moor.
The moon looks in between the fronded beams
Of wicked plants that stand, until it seems
The night is made of moss and leaf and bole—
A hopeless wood—a place without a soul.
Never a star looks in this silent gloom—
This tangled maze of green from Nature’s loom—
Never a sound, save macaws' chattering
And chimpanzees'—haunting their aerial swing.