Mind the Oak in the woodland
for the roots curl the clearing,
stretch in the day, retreat at night.
Smooth around next nest leaves,
they can trip the unwary hiker
into residing in the tree’s hollow.
And when the sleep comes,
as surely it will, the traveller will forget
his purpose in Hamadryad chant,
for the charm is iressistable, as nature;
rain tapped harps, strums in dreams.
She will shave her rooted legs,
shake dew remains from chestnut hair.
Wrap around his waist till the day’s spent,
sap risen anew to young leafless tips,
and the seed of the forest sown.
