The Dryad’s Lament

In a greenwood glen where the wildflowers grow
There lies a fallen willow, old and low
Upon its trunk, a fungus like a saddle
A dryad's seat, but now a scene of sorrow

For she who sits upon the dryad's saddle
Is not a merry nymph of wood and meadow
But one who mourns her lover and her tree
That fell to axe and fire in the shadow

She weeps and wails, but none can hear her plea
The forest folk have fled or hid in fear
The men of iron have come with sword and steel
To cut and burn the woods that once were dear

She knows not where to go, or what to feel
She clings to what is left of her old home
The fungus and the trunk, her only friends
But soon they too will rot and turn to loam

And so she sings a song that never ends
A song of grief and loss, of love and woe
A song that fills the glen with bitter tears
A song that none but she will ever know

In a greenwood glen where the wildflowers grow
There lies a fallen willow, old and low
Upon its trunk, a fungus like a saddle
A dryad's seat, but now a scene of sorrow

Poems and images: Bing chat and image creator.