deep within the forest of Jonteray
beside the vast Osirian sea
an old woman wandered
slowly rambling every river's vale
climbing each tree capped mount
in search of the last Thrimble trunk
to grace her final gift upon

cast out by heartless son
for she was no more use to him
she laid her weary head and hand
against the weathered bark
and thought of all she'd seen and done
from rainbow swans to flying sprees
and in the thinking of
produced a single tear
which coursed through ancient veins
transpired as sap
within her dying breath

and here, where Nightlarks gaily sing
there dawned a wondrous spark
that danced upon the lichens wrap
and brightly shone
throughout the verdant bower

before the eyes of Bracket's fawns
the light began to fade
and turn to fresh pink skin
as soft as petals of the rose
hair like gossamer

her feet as dainty as the light
reflected from the blooms
of the purest Honesty plant
her view as clear as fogless days

moons rode by on starry chariots
a century of suns graced the sky
until one day she had a glimpse
of a thing she'd spied before
though it seemed an eon ago

it was the look of death
raised in a young man's eyes
that scanned and scoped her tree's delight
as if to weigh it up

so when he rested hands
upon her treasured leaves
she turned into a roe
that darted with seductive poise
to draw him right away

and when this boy, he stayed his course
she formed into the reddest plum
and hung upon a branch
to catch his greedy eye
yet still he carried on

and as he raised his axe
she changed into a bear
and knocked him off his feet
for never could she harm him

her magic nearly spent
she wondered hard
considered long...
what could this young man want?
and in the thinking of
she gathered bluebell juice
to weave the finest dress
red poppy peel to stain her lips
and cast her final spell

before his axe, it fell again
there stood a young princess
one fit for any king
(with torpid opium on her lips)
but this young knave was not so royal
yet cruel to his core
and in the thinking of, he merely laughed
for he was wise to all her tricks
and only wanted what would fit
into his deepest purse

for Thrimble trees be magic
that richly compensate

and with each deepening strike
he smiled
to watch her plead and cry
then just before his terminal blow
he looked straight in her eyes
and laughed to say "farewell"

when suddenly
she faded
then she disappeared

love lay bleeding
as angel's trumpets blew
in deeper cerise hues
and wept their floral tears
at the place where she had stood

when in their midst
a single viridian dancer rose
from a solitary nut
lifting arms up to the sky
and in the sole dew pearl
that formed like magic on one hand
there twinkled a familiar spark
one set to shine for a thousand years

for that old woman was destined
to long outlive her wicked son!