What haunts the trees of old

 

What haunts the trees of old

 

In the pitchness, darkness black and pure,

 Where the sylvan branches hide the moon,

 And the stars from pleasant sight. There is,

A place where magic still exists, and ghosts

And faeries dance among the darkened trees,

While the wizard sings a solemn tune.

 

Be this place, an ancient place, where,

In times of old the people stood and preyed

To the heavens and the trees to save them

From the horrors of the world. Now infested,

With the wonders of each and every child’s

Lost and uncorrupted imagination.

 

But not so what the men of science say,

A power wielded once before in days of old,

By men in gowns that spoke in tongues,

That now has risen once again and stopped

The wonder of the darkest trees from

Haunting our lost memory.