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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required We live in the shade of the wood That’s called the Ancient Wildren. It’s been there since creation. We are it’s Chosen Children. Strangers have arrived and Our prospects are not good, They are bringing in machines To destroy our Wildren Wood. A sense of horror hangs As though floating in the air. You can almost feel and touch The of sorrow and despair. The Wildren shows no sign That’s it’s aware of its fate, Unchanging and unknowing it Just seemed to stand and wait.. The great machines advanced In the bright morning light As we waited with tears, Sadly anticipated the sight Of a forest of dead stumps As slowly, one by one The destruction progressed Until every tree was gone. The wood howled with anger And without any sign of pity Destroyed each machine And person from the city. With the coming of the dark There was nothing left in sight To show there had been A ruthless survival fight Not a single tree fell though Many bore the scars, The only evidence to show That they d been in the wars. Every machine gone as though Being absorbed by the ground, No evidence they’d existed, Was anywhere to be found. We still hunt in it’s fringes Wondering if and when The strangers from the city Will dare return to try again. Wildren Wood stands and waits, Allows us to cautiously enter, And sometimes we hear Loud howls from its centre. It’s been there since creation. It’s called the Ancient Wildren. We still live in its shade for We are it’s Chosen Children.
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