We live in the shade of the wood
That’s called the Ancient Wildren.
It’s been there since creation.
We are it’s Chosen Children.
Strangers have arrived and
Our prospects are not good,
They are bringing in machines
To destroy our Wildren Wood.
A sense of horror hangs
As though floating in the air.
You can almost feel and touch
Feelings of sorrow and despair.
The Wildren shows no sign
That’s it’s aware of its fate,
Unchanging and unknowing it
Just seemed to stand and wait..
The great machines advanced
In the bright morning light
As we waited with tears,
Sadly anticipated the sight
Of a forest of dead stumps
As slowly, one by one
The destruction progressed
Until every tree was gone.
The wood howled with anger
And without any sign of pity
Destroyed each machine
And person from the city.
With the coming of the dark
There was nothing left in sight
To show there had been
A ruthless survival fight
Not a single tree fell though
Many bore the scars,
The only evidence to show
That they d berm in the wars.
Every machine gone as though
Being absorbed by the ground,
No evidence they’d existed,
Was anywhere to be found.
We still hunt in it’s fringes
Wondering if and when
The strangers from the city
Will dare return to try again.
Wildren Wood stands and waits,
Allows us to cautiously enter,
And sometimes we hear
Loud howls from its centre.
It’s been there since creation.
It’s called the Ancient Wildren.
We still live in its shade for
We are it’s Chosen Children.
