How silent the wood seems now ,
that everyone has left .
Or perhaps they never were ,
to the untrained eyes of the unwanted guest ?

The streams and Brooks are still flowing ,
their waters never end ,
and the birds will soon be chirping,
alive their happy song .
to reclaim the wood that man once trod ,
and thought he once belonged .

Her Queen is now in paradise she  goes a waltzing through her trees ,
caught only by the passing dancing whispers of her leaves .
“ She looks happy now for the strangers bones
have now all broken ,
for they have turned to mulch before her feet ,
and lie a compost for her bed .

and the leaves and trees before her , they form a trail before her ,
and so ,
break out in song .

they go on and on and on .
As the winds and trees obey her ,
and sing her happy tune .

And soon the trees are Waltzing with each other in her wake ,
for nothing shall stand before her ,
not man ,
or beast or snake .

For the costers who once sold apples ,
they stripped them from her trees.                                                         they  came across a glade in the Forrest .
They  lit fires and gorged on anything that flew ,
or swam ,
or moved ,
then fell in silence to their knees .

And by dusk they all had all vanished ,
not a *** or burning ember to be seen .

As as for the men who came with axes to cut down what they could find ? Well they disappeared like the stranger ,
under no rock or stone could they hide .

And as the sun rises softly ,
into a warming pastel hew ,
her warm rays balm in sunlight ,
as the Queen takes up her throne ,
to gaze upon in glorious sunlight ,
for  her throne is made out of skin and bone ,
content that man knows  best,
to think that the Forrest is his home .