The Enchanted Tree

A poem of mine.

copyright Ash Durrance



The old tree looms there
an umbraged, enthroned tower
Ancient bawn
still restless and mighty in power

Delving deep, its' roots
like armored brutes, have marched
through dragon caverns
and goblin taverns...
yet deeper still, have stole

Like an invincible mole,
to where the fyres sometimes burn
and sprites, nameless, yearn...
befriended by the dark things that squirm there

Arrassed in their own kind of lore,
whom often also sore
above hollow, fathomless depths
Surveying wide their black kingdom
that whilst it slept

This old trees' roots had into crept.

Alas, this sentinel looms there
many tales it hath groomed there
from underneath,
beneath the deep
it's lays, unbroken, do seep

in crystalline droplets of
morning coloured dew, and many a
pale blue, it's memories bound there
are sung anew
tho' oft only to the chosen few

Singing tales of the nameless things
that dwell beneath,
through pleasant creeks, that do entreat
, in slumber and in waking, the listener well,
to it's every present spell

Written in the sky, with
wooden fingers high, gurgled up through bogs,
by wooden toes and logs
Weaving it's enchantments,
below it's green encampments
that never can be broken
because something deep
hath been awoken