The Trees Know...
 
 

In my yard stands an old oak tree:
He is as old as time, he has told me.
Since I was small, I have spoken with him
About many things, while sitting on his limbs.
He has told me stories from the past,
And about how he knows of the last
Of the magick folk who lived here once,
Before the coming of Man and his hunts.
He speaks to me of the vanishing times
And of the faerie's little magickal rhymes
That they spoke to cross between worlds,
To mysterious realms and Otherworlds.
He remembers the greatness of power
Held within Nature since the first hour
That had been tapped by those who know
How to talk with the trees, and come and go
Between the worlds as the faeries of the past.
But these people of mystery are fading fast.
My friend the oak speaks sadly of the damage done
To his brothers and sisters by Man in fun,
Seeking sport, they are not for balances:
Man would rather take those chances.
When he tells me of these sad times he knows,
I sit quietly and listen to words that go
Around the air to weave the tale he tells.
Then all is silent as we both hear the bells
Of a far off church tolling the hour.
If only we all could listen to the power
The trees of time have waited to share
With those interested enough to care...

First Opened: November 13, 2000
Revised: June 2004