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 ramblings and things


There's a strange dark place
So very close to our home
It's the Ancient Old Wood
Where none of us dare roam.
We hunt at its fringes
For none of us dare enter
There is death and despair
At its fearsome dark Centre.
As we hunt at its fringes
We just hear branch's sighs.
Sometimes the wind carries
Loud shrieks and fierce cries.
The fringes  are dark
The ground mud runny
It never seems to dry even
When it's been full sunny.
Our land here is beautiful
And our lives here are good
So long as we respect that
Ancient living breathing wood.
It's been there since creation.
It's  called the Ancient Wildren.
We live in its shade for
We are it's Chosen Children.

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