In the thicket, among the ferns did it dwell, Ill fortune to
Those who do did find upon themselves.

Lost in talking woodlands, trees whispered on breezes
Unheard by mortal sense but they did not like the perils
Of mans thought.

Ever consuming the natural order, leaving tears of sand.
Unfertile moments wherever a footstep did leave its mark.
Could this vestige of a time that was older than mans
Thoughts continue.

The trees did whisper and that which dwelled a keeper of
natures beauty of all that was of the in unison with the
Cycle ever flowing in this ancient bark.

Stories told saplings of times before where friends stretched
Higher and further than any leaf could glide upon trees
Whispers that motioned as if a breeze had glanced upon
Leaves but they were of unheard spoken word.

Beware you of mortal coil as the muttering of leaves will
Sign that which watches from beneath the thicket
For if you come as friend only collecting fallen twigs
Of trees words dead on the ground.

But if flame or axe is wielded upon a brother or sisters
Of bark, then I the earth you shall fertilize, your end
Feeding nature that you had in turn tried to harm.