The wrath of trees

butterfly

Passing through the woods on an overcast day
No glaring rays outshone the glorious greens
Deeper into the green I treaded outside the hum
Of people that are doing their job.

I had presumed to own the woods today.
Yet old wounds upon the barks made them see
In beady suspicion, I stood spellbound
Under the wrath of a hundred hissing trees.

What is your business, they hollered as one
I am the vampire that comes to draw your blood
In exile I linger and now I am here
In the copse the council forgot.

Do not ask what we can do for you
We have done quite enough already.

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