The Man-Eating Tree

To escape With the rays of the sun And the mist of cold Climb into one Last view Of a garden Dressed winter's cleanest White Would it ring true Here, at the last mile to walk Would it ring true Here, at the breaker of the new Would it ring true Here,

As if catching a wave, Only to sink down In hope of no Floor on the way. As if in one refined click A fate would be sealed Without a single hint of a warning. As if soaring on wings wide In the bluest of skies And burnt so by the sun. As if one whisp

The Man-Eating Tree Lathing A New Man I know As well as My own name They will never Tire Our shallow Enemies Of forging new villains Man, made of mud In his master's house Where hands of his Order the machine Forged in the flames of fire Man, made of