Beautiful, sweeping, seeping mist
  Don't weep for me your gentle tears
  But kiss the trees as only you can
Before their youthful leaves turn Gold
  To be plucked or pulled down by the wind
Bewitch the spell till summer comes
  And turn the Falls' head with drizzlin'
As you clasp bare limbs in paleing hands
  Would you kiss the trees as only you can?

Crash into me
riding your waves
and washing up
next to you
for as much time
as we can squeeze in.
Let me sink my feet
into your sand,
my roots
into your earth,
my fingers
into your skin.

.
Quiet! Shhh!
Can you hear it?
The animals are talking.
No, they are panicking.
Can you smell it?
The Forest is on fire.
My Forest is aflame!

I run, following nostrils singed with heat,
against the tide of the fleeing fauna.
Reaching the blaze I see....
eight of them.
My anger rises and erupts.
'STOP!' I bellow. They turn and draw swords.
My eyes narrow and a look of pure disdain unfolds.

I continue.
'I am Rook, Lord of the Forest Kingdom.
How dare you, enter my domain with no permission
and reek havoc on my Forest'.

A step is taken, toward me.
The eyes of a fighter glower, at me.
The point of a sword raises, threatening me.

I punish.
'For your transgressions and your destruction
you shall stand as stones, for eternity,
and as a warning to others'.

A scream pierces the air as a foot,
then another, compresses to rock.
The rest join the chorus, agony,
as each become statues,
twisted and contorted as
the Ancient Oaks they had destroyed.

My Oaks.
This is my Anger.
Would you care to see my Love?


© Pagan Paul (2018)