Line of trees on hilltop, spread.
Broken alter, drowned by leaves.
Swamp-land swallows forest, whole.
And I, the soulless stand
before devil's gate.
Blighted hand
lifts out of ground,
drags me in
beneath the depths of fall.
Barren woods,
so full of grief,
hooded traveler
on the path is seen.
Past unmarked grave
the foot of tree: he walks.
and there on the horizon rises
veiled night rover,
and witch's flight.
Hail storm night,
the forest breaks,
the roots of trees uplift.
The cries of the dead
echo above the din,
and mine the loudest of all.
