Poem about the tree

A long ago on hill of evergreen

A hopeless sorcerer planted a small tree

And years after, wounded by a soldier of the crown

Under the foot of his creation he lay down

The years have passed, wars began and ended

Kingdoms rose and fell, the tree expanded

It’s sturdy roots spread across the hill

With sorcerer’s blood and sorcerer’s will

The fog is creeping up, and tree admits:

Another orphean being settled on it

Three-eyed black raven found his home

He listens to the whisper of wind and bloody stones

Now the sun bypasses over the bald hill

The wizard like a cancer growths its will

The violet fields became the smithereens

Nobody screams and nothing dreams

The valleys nearby are dried up by thousand-year-old tree

The only one that was and always be

Full moon hung over the top of the hill

The raven admires the fabulous tree

The skies are raining with blood on the earth

Creating a miracle landscape of death

The only one missing is an artist to fix

The fullness of beauty and natural tricks