Three Trees
Three trees stood in a wood
Their leaves whispering to each other
Three gossipy old trees.
Three trees stood in a wood
They had eyes of red
Red, almost brown.
Three trees stood in a wood
Red eyes see everything that
Brown and blue and green do not.
Three trees stood in a wood
Their thoughts are slow and black
They think for a thousand years.
Three trees stood in a wood
A black thought is never good
An old thought is always evil.
Three trees stood in a wood
Let the dead lie
Under their shadowy branches.
Three trees stood in a wood
The dead whisper their pale secrets
Into their sinuous roots.
Three trees stood in a wood
Birds rest not here
Here in the home of the dark.
Three trees stood in a wood
These branches never bowed
With heavy, sweet fruit.
Three trees stood in a wood
Woe befall he who sees them
Evil haunts the axe-man.
Three trees stood in a wood
Drinking in the rain greedily
And smacking their red lips.
Three trees stood in a wood
Old wood may splinter
But it is your hand it cuts.
Three trees stood in a wood
Old trees drink blood, they say
But whose blood is it?
Their leaves whispering to each other
Three gossipy old trees.
Three trees stood in a wood
They had eyes of red
Red, almost brown.
Three trees stood in a wood
Red eyes see everything that
Brown and blue and green do not.
Three trees stood in a wood
Their thoughts are slow and black
They think for a thousand years.
Three trees stood in a wood
A black thought is never good
An old thought is always evil.
Three trees stood in a wood
Let the dead lie
Under their shadowy branches.
Three trees stood in a wood
The dead whisper their pale secrets
Into their sinuous roots.
Three trees stood in a wood
Birds rest not here
Here in the home of the dark.
Three trees stood in a wood
These branches never bowed
With heavy, sweet fruit.
Three trees stood in a wood
Woe befall he who sees them
Evil haunts the axe-man.
Three trees stood in a wood
Drinking in the rain greedily
And smacking their red lips.
Three trees stood in a wood
Old wood may splinter
But it is your hand it cuts.
Three trees stood in a wood
Old trees drink blood, they say
But whose blood is it?
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