you know, it's impolite
to pick and scratch the bark
of those who carry weight
of age and wisdom both
so would you be so kind
as to climb down now
and leave my leaves at peace
and branches still attached...

well, thank you very much...
say, what now, child? please,
come closer and speak up!
you ask me what I am?

well, child, I'm a tree
what kind? you ask. ahem
of special kind no less
why don't you take a seat
this story is quite long, and
there's no need for haste
on days like this when sun
is shining through your leaves
and wind...

oh yes, where was I? right,
my story of the treefolk,
of forests lively green
and rivers running blue
of nature going wild
between the stalks of grass

of fire burning all to ash
and death it brought along

all trees, you see, are kin
to me, my siblings dear
and every single one
I used to know by name
this wasn't always so
as in the days long gone
there were so many more
of us, preparing to uphold

the lands on which we grew
and trees of which we cared
and deep inside the woods
our sacred sapling grove

when people came at first
and started chopping trees
we came to them at night
and sternly asked to leave
like times and times before
with goblins, same as dwaves
but humans... they returned
and brought with them machines

I still remember well
despite my older age
how we stood all as one
and fiercely fought the foe
for every inch of land
and every tiny shrub
they paid the price in blood
and mighty steep it was

we fought them day and night
and though their losses grim
withstanding wave by wave
our lines were growing thin
one brother took the place
where other brother fell
one life for twenty... fifty...
hundred. yet not enough...

machines of wood and metal
that belched streams of fire
we had no match to those
to turn the tides of battle
we had to play our foes
for fools. though shrewd and sly
though cunning and observant
those humans shared one flaw...

it's considered rude
to interrupt your elders
if you are not prepared
then maybe I should stop?
this story seems too slow
and long for youth like you
say what now? speak up, child
more? you sure? if you do so insist

where was I? right. our plan
of trickery. deceit, of all,
was to become last hope
our grove still lives, our
brethren lost their lives
in selfless valiant defiance
not in vain... for here
they fell, so here we all
could stay

the force of ruin stopped
it's deadly fire quelched
our saplings sprout anew
to bring back lives we lost
hope filled our souls to brim
and so we lay in waiting
until the darkest hour
decended over us, and still
we lay, and wait...

oblivious for now of what was yet to come

when humans noticed that
we weren't on the fields
they rushed in all at once
to break our line of guard
we let them pass, for now
and after some more waiting
we followed in their steps
and caught the wind of camp

we ambushed them. our plan
gave us the upper hand
machines forlorn in fear
and humans scattered wide
though only few escaped
to live and tell the tale
the victory was ours
or so we thought, alas

they burned the grove
left nothing still alive
a couple men
too eager to destroy
broke camp
to scout up ahead
treir haste became our folly
that's all they want, to ****
to massacre
with no remorse or guilt
our sacred grove
all turned to ash and dust
we broke their army
but they have
destroyed our lives
our hopes for brighter days
all vanished
smeared by rain and dirt
and only pain...
now there's only pain
where our young grew
hours back before

that battle, child, it was my last
soon after it I left my home forever
I couldn't stay there, couldn't bear
to look upon my failure any more...
and here I am, after who knows
how many years I spent in travel
and twice as many yet spent
rooting down here, silent
and alone...


you know, I have yet never told
this story to another living being
the first to hear it would be who?
a human child? nonsense, dear
that's what I would have said
but here we are now, you and me...
say, child... did you... like my story?
or was it, mayhaps, too bothersome
for youth your age to listen through?

say what, child? oh, that's nice...
well, thank you, dear. oh my,
I think it time for you to go
back home, it's getting late.
well, off you go, now, child. oh,
one last thing... here, take this, dear
it is an acorn from the grove, the
sole survivor from that raging fire
plant it somewhere nice, my child
and hopefully one day, a sapling
of my kin will sprout once more

23.06.24