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.