Marred with taboo, akin to divinity,
This is the trail, the symbol of feminity.
Manlihood often walks where for pleasure,
The trail laved in blood is loved never.

Every month, slowly, the autumn treads in,
The trail is strewn with leaves crimson.
Though the tree sobs, it is silent,
The pain is unbearable and strident.

The trail tarnished in murky red
Should be hid and tree be untouched,
But the trail swathed in blood ruby,
Is the very essence of tree's feminity.

To this sacred trail, I bow in reverence,
In li'l steps, life has always crawled whence.