lord of the primal wood,

cloaked in leaves,

his eyes reflect hazy motes of sunlight.

protector of the dwindling forest,

and of the dying magic within.

he walks about the in-between,

at twilight, and at midnight;

attempting to heal, to turn back time.

he weeps with despair each time a tree is felled,

his oaken body wracked with pain;

helplessly he watches

the wood beginning to fade,

slowly becoming a stark desert, a dead memory.