Wrath of the Wood Nymphs

What started as a gentle stroll

In Midnight Forest, black as coal,

Became a prickly, nervy walk

As all around I heard them talk.



"He tramples on our sacred earth

From which The Ancestors gained birth.

Come, mighty Oaks and seal his fate.

Act now, before it is too late!"



The Dryads' urgings chilled my spine.

I flashed a peaceful palms-up sign.

Alas, the spirits wanted blood

Stout branches lashed me where I stood.


I sink, despairing, to my knees

While blows rain down from vengeful trees.

As I expire my last breath rails

Against misleading Nature Trails.