Cold was the evening,
Chill was the wind,
Dull the foreboding
The forest stumbling in!
Old was the tree
Rotten were the branches
Foul-mossy was the trunk
To Walter the assassin!
Oh, useless, tree!
The farmer muttered bitter
No use for thee!
No expedient curse a-fitter!
Down bowed the oak
The forest dank with smoke
O, man of hate, so wee,
How has brother elder oak,
How have I offended thee?
The rebel sprang up and slashed his sword
The wounded oak, he groaned!
Begone, foul rotten carcass!
Walter roared, as the old tree moaned.
The sagely elder wept
To witness Walter’s ire
Thee I shall slay, for sure,
Corrupt old dotard,
By iron, blood and fire!
Alas, ah me!
The old oak wept,
How have I grieved thee, brother?
Are we not one and all the child
Of one tender, loving mother!
I know thee not!
Th’ assassin spat.
O doddering, senile fool!
What boots a tree we cannot climb,
Or cut, and use for wood?
But I’m alike to thee!
He wept,
Born alike of God’s green earth?
Thy hatred and thy fear, I grieve
I’m ever brought to birth!
Walter cast down his bloody sword,
Eyes blazing to the heavens
If I should ever wound thee more,
Then wound me, aye again,
To seventy times seven!
The mighty shoulders of the tree
They heaved and drew great tears
At length, poor Walter
Grabbed the trunk, and bled out all his fears
Brother, we are wounded one
By one infernal sword
Many a time I’ve derided thee
With cruel, mocking words…
Nature I fear, O brother dear,
For alike we are brought down
By the cold and vengeful savagery
Of the cassock and the crown!
The oak then smiled,
And e’en his wounds,
Commenced to glisten green
O what a singular miracle
In the forest glade was seen!
Walter’s bleeding arms and thighs
They finally gushed their last
O magnificent the miracle
As presently came to pass!
Screaming like a dying swan,
Walter’s passionate roar did fall
And the wounded branches of the oak
Embraced him, as though all
The past harsh words and thoughtless deeds
Have never come to be
O marvel! Walter’s ashen limbs
In turn embraced the tree
The gloomy forest brimmed with life
And birdsong trilled anon
Walter and the aged oak
Had now joined hands as one
He seemed to die, it was not so!
Like the Maccabees so bold
Walter and the blessed tree
They’ve fast become a song of old
And every child who had the boon
Of a tender, loving mother
Would often ask to hear this story
And but rarely any other
Tell me, mama, why all those bad men
They never found dear Walter?
The mother sighs, and pensive gazes
On her hearth, O blessed altar!
O son, O daughter dear!
She’ll murmur
Lovingly discreet
Many a time those naughty princes
This sacred oak did meet
Many a time a wicked monk,
A publican and a thief
Has searched this sacred forest
But they’ve never found him yet!
But mama, why?
The child pipes up.
Mother doth reply,
The magic Walter tree abides
His blessed brother,
Side by side.
The mother lays her finger
On her precious, tender lips
She softly sings and the little child
In innocent slumber slips
Brother Walter, and brother Oak
Are everywhere, I deem.
But the only words they ever speak
Are for we blessed ones…
Who alone have eyes to see.
Over 200 shares! Proud! Not sure what happened to the photos though.