Padded with armor layered in sheaves and shingles,
Birds and squirrels from their nests taking turns at the watch,
The forest is a war camp, trunks trained and battle-ready,
Each tree a man-of-war prepared to stand the test of time.

Havoc! Storm-born gods smite the wood from behind the rainclouds’ clamor,
Rivers of lightning indiscriminate scourge the arboreal assembly,
Ravaging the haughty hawthorn and the arrogant alder,
The angry glow of fires countless rages on and on.

Yet when calm again prevails, amidst the muddy charcoal stumps,
Before the smoke is finished seething, fire-**** irascible shoots forth,
For the forest knows no maps, has no borders to be redrawn,
Ever rebuilding, ever unyielding, bastions of bark that shan’t admit defeat.