The Stag Tree King of Hainault Forest

You stand like a king, Your crown of twisting horns, Rising from your robes of peeling bark, Spirit of tree, Your presence all around, You are of this forest, This place, This Eden where our soul Was lost, We left, and now we long to come back, And so, We dig, we dig until our hands bleed, We dig to find what we had, To find again, What was lost, This Forest, That now stands with its wooden king, This forest where we lost our soul, This forest where humanity lives, In ever shorter days, Kicking the fallen, Kicking Golden leaves Into the air. John Robert