Nymphs of palest green
Dance in the failing limbs
Of a wild oak tree.
They sing her a song of solitude
Strength and grace
Unending.
Standing alone, a beacon of hope
For all who watch
As she is the last of her kind.
Surounded by desolation
The last of the leaves fall victim
To the anger of humanity.
Yet she stands tall
As her white scar blazes
Against the coming
Of the last tide
Of steel.
