Queen of the Woodland Realm - Old Growth

The black birds gather

Harbingers of death whisper of a coming storm

The old growth bows to the roaring winds

For hundreds of years he throned over this primeval forest

A thousand spirits of the woods encircle his crown

Homeless they‘ll fade into the opaque void

The spotted owls disappear at first

Like ghosts of a dying world they vanish in the night

Behold the omen

A new age dawns

Eternal darkness enshrouds the canopy

The stars turn black

They die in silenc

No crescent illuminates th nightsky

A thousand dying birds fall from the heavens

All life ends on this fateful day

Behold the queen of the woodland realm

The feral Mother emerges one last time

Where a fern flower unrolled its seedless leaves

Enfeebled she stalks the alder thicket

With the arrival of the coming storm

Her graceful appearance will leave this world forever

Forever