The beautiful flower she grew
Soft child of the grass golden was her hue
Shade from the sun and warmth when cold
By a gnarled mangy tree, the years make him old.
The beautiful white doe dances by
Without fear of the sly looks or the arrows that fly
She dances without cost and sings as she sighs
She curls down at dusk in a warm grassy knoll
By a gnarled mangy tree, his friends make him whole.
Careless children, tramped on by without glance or stare
Saw only a petal upon green leaf
Tore they down that blessed gown and raped as they went by
Soft water’s child and friend of all
Light as a whisper heavy was her fall
The gnarled mangy tree, he wept without end.
Whispers in the dark and cold metal snaps in place
They watch with rapt attention as the fair doe moves about in grace.
A life that was meant for peace and play
With a flash and a bang, a bloodied body on the grassy knoll she lay.
The gnarled mangy tree, he had had enough.
Invoked he the wrath of the wind and fire of the sun,
Tore he his hair and snapped out a bark and let out a run.
Each limb fora hundred bullets and wizened old bark for what was left in that gun.
With a voice from the first sun and moon, he let out a roar and an ending groan
With a hideous cry he fell…the gnarled mangy tree, now is no more.
-mithrandir
