The Trees

There’s a dark reaching in the trees tonight,
I can hear them singing.
That cold wind has risen and it’s raking through the tangled heights,
bringing down homes and scattering silent beasts asunder.

I wouldn’t take that stroll tonight.
It seems likely you’ll not return.
There’s creeps in there, and snarls and webs.
Catching and biting,
waiting behind stumps and wrapping gnarled claws around unguarded ankles.

Stay inside where it’s bright and it’s warm,
sit at the window and gaze at the storm.
But be not too smug and be not too clever –
it’s never so wise to laugh at the weather.

Am I right? Tell me!

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