Wildren Chronicle

There are tales of the Old Days Of a time of trial and glory So we gather around the fire as The Old Ones tell their story Wildren Wood may be dying. For the last few weeks it seems We, it’s children, are haunted by Shrieks and moans and screams. The invaders have returned Ringing it with machines of awe Slowly reducing its perimeter Each day by a little bit more. The trees have massed together Providing a defensive screen Until it seems a standoff Between them and each machine. This time there is no contact Just a steady slow retreat This time the Ancient Wood Seemed to face a final defeat. An eerie silence one morning And every tree was gone, Just a deep black pit remained, Ancient Wildren had moved on. We, it’s children. awoke to A strangely peaceful scene No sign or indication that Any confrontation had been. The sun seems a little dimmer Emitting a different light The stars seem different The sky darker at night. Elders say our Ancient Wood Had moved to a different place Taking us it’s faithful children Through time and maybe space. And the Elders tell the tale Of that eventful night When under dark’s cover Our home took a saving flight. We live and hunt in the shadow Of the wood called Ancient Wildren It is our shield and defender And we are it’s grateful children