There once was a young proud maiden who was a caretaker to the forest and walked upon the winter wind. Passing a tree grove her eyes wide in alert she slowed her pace, For she could have sworn she saw the life within... Within the wind, she could believe. Within the river, she could see. She saw the life that would last these bodies forever. But within the Trees how could this be? The Trees are dead! Her voice spilling out like lead. No leaves no buds these all are duds, but still within she saw the life there of. Within the wind the tree limbs did swim they bent and flowed and rusled and echcoed. But no. She claimed, dead they be and off she went. When the wind whirled around her and completely surrounded her, turning her back till her eyes made contact the winter was over and under her feet rest a bed of clover and all around her with a creak and a crack the leaves burst forth no longer to be laughed at. The Forest maiden dropped upon her knees and begged the trees to forgive her young minded error. Proud she had been would they please overlook the erogant sin. The largest tree among them filled will a green fungus pardoned the maiden no longer standing upon the wind. Proud you have been, but lowly you will be. Tend to us Now! and pardoned you will be. |