Crows no longer rest upon the branches
Animals no longer use the leaves
To fortify their nests
When the forest was living
A glorious treasure, a winterland
A single tree remains, now ashes
No one though grieves
The world is yet blessed
For its shade was forgiving
Alone it may appear to be damned
None understand the circumstances
The wood yet weaves
Now upon the trunk, ghosts rest
Despite the beauty some see it as forbidding
It yet stands
“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
