Chestnut Blight

As each fatigued day culls my nature Mine mind does Judas thee And tinker pon the waves of hope Muted Banshee My blighted roots once writhed hitherto Severed from earths comely breast Mother natures contempt of me Fair mumsy, she knows best (Stark) I adorn no vibrant leaves Laird, wooden beast Plucked till I stood bare No blightsome shade for sibling seed From summers wretched glare (Raving) With chestnut blight, my ashen crown Looms remorsefully And you my wretched parasite Prefer to pick at me Not with axe, nor barbarous force Unjust chipping at my belief Till I am lost and swathing In painfilled cumbersome grief (Mad!) So whilst the heartwood settles near And whilst I shed my final tear Am crushed, lopped rooted out Be ever headful, covet doubt That even pon the vilest slope Within Woolgather Hush lullaby Hope x