The Wreckers

See those winding roads

through the slow hills?

When it’s dark and wet

don’t go that way.

There are those who wait

in the slippery dark

on the sharp bends

where the shadows stay.

They wait for spills

on the lonely tracks.

Perhaps they cause them;

that we can’t say.

Just never forget —
recklessness kills. 

I'm practising the bref double form for the next little while. 
There's a challenge on at Poetic Asides.