Poem about the tree
A long ago on hill of evergreen
A hopeless sorcerer planted a small tree
And years after, wounded by a soldier of the crown
Under the foot of his creation he lay down
The years have passed, wars began and ended
Kingdoms rose and fell, the tree expanded
It’s sturdy roots spread across the hill
With sorcerer’s blood and sorcerer’s will
The fog is creeping up, and tree admits:
Another orphean being settled on it
Three-eyed black raven found his home
He listens to the whisper of wind and bloody stones
Now the sun bypasses over the bald hill
The wizard like a cancer growths its will
The violet fields became the smithereens
Nobody screams and nothing dreams
The valleys nearby are dried up by thousand-year-old tree
The only one that was and always be
Full moon hung over the top of the hill
The raven admires the fabulous tree
The skies are raining with blood on the earth
Creating a miracle landscape of death
The only one missing is an artist to fix
The fullness of beauty and natural tricks
