Dryads

wyles daniel

Reach, bough, o’er the       Boundenwood; young

Shades claim the realm       beneath thy shadow.

Where, by grave-trees,       the Sailors dock

And dim their lamps.       Fire lapses here.

Strain limbs below,       stray from their touch;

Pallid their claws,       eyes chalcedony.

Speak in off’rings;       with blood stain their

Faultless faces.       Tears falter here.

Catch sight of those       encamped ashore;

Heed not the ones       whose heels are joined

With clay. Coins press       in palms to claim

An empty seat.       Sighs wander here.

Take flow’rs from the       river, taste the

Dulcet flesh. Let       them hum, dull and

Cloudy; hushing.       Clutch the low sky,

Starving for light.       Stars echo here.

Grasp smoke that they       whisper, granting

Their lives; breathe the       secrets of the breeze.

Write sagas in       rings, psalms in the

Branch, hymns in stems.       Wisps waken here.

Hold leaves o’er the       Ashenvale; lean

And listen, O       listless dryads,

To those beneath       thy roots. They near

The trumpet’s bend.       Gasps beckon here.