My, how the trees keep secrets.
My, oh my, how they grow.
Oh, how the trees all whisper
as the fierce winter winds blow.

Tread atop discarded leaves,
between branches; carefully weave.
My, how the forest impedes.
Trees never tell what they know.

They aren't silent, these trees
emit creaks and gutteral groans,
like giants waking from slumber
and stretching their turgid bones.

The canopy then blocks out the sun,
compelling me to break into a run.
One hand clasping tight on my gun,
should've never wandered off alone.