Tread carefully in the forest, my dear
There are spirits among the trees.
Patient, uneasy, and waiting.
They stay high among the branches or low at the roots;
With the beginning
And the end
They whisper sweet things, hurricanes of freedom
Breezes of retribution.
Cold winds howling for revenge.
They’ve made a home in the rings of the forest.
In the moss and the morning dew.
Tales woven in the browning of leaves and the fires that consume them.
Flames dancing under a sky canopied by grief.
Thousand Eyes stares on and on and watches the passing of time.
Do not go into the forest, my dear,
The spirits are hungry.