O dark Forest! Arcane Forest!
What veilest thou 'neath Cimmerian shadows?
What dost thou hide ‘hind lichen mottled stones?
Haunted forest, the home of fairy and elven folk,
witty petite beings to whom none of the trivialities
Of the world have relevance; the home of song birds
with no errands in the day but to fill the crisp air
with gentle melodies.
But too the dwelling place of monsters, crooked fiends
who barge through the woodland snapping branches
and announcing their approach with a metrical
Stride – gongan godes yrre bær, gongan godes...
Beasts who stalk with grime filled claws which scratch
across the soft needle floor, foam trickling down from tongues
and over yellow fangs before coagulating into a scaly
crust on the horrid creatures’ pelts.
O, the wondrous things thou containeth shadowy Forest,
home of the fizzing brooke! How it cascades and tumbles
so elegantly over stick and stone, its pure, crystalline, holy
water a conduit for a solitary speckled leaf, colored a yellow
as brilliant as the sun, but tainted with patches of black.
Your splendor in imperfection, O Forest, umbrage filled
place where man can hide from the trifling quarrels of society.
That thou shall forever maintain thy stygian splendor!
