The Lament of the Wolf God
The dying trees cry out to me
Ripping roots
Shredded shoots
Of oak and broken saplings—splinters
Crease the sky like knives
While men with axes shining red
Nature's blood
Unhealthy flood
Of oak and broken saplings—splinters
Pierce their sleeping wives
I sit here and I watch this world
Drift from dawn
To the lawn
Of oak and broken saplings—splinters
Stain the rock I'm lying on.
Of oak and broken saplings—splinters
Pierce the heart—and faith is gone.
