Within its outer covering,
coloured the palest green,
in utter darkness, wondering,
and so, of course, unseen...

It lies beneath the horrid weight
of new and ancient waste,
and yet, it doesn't fear or hate
and never feels displaced.

A perfect, living, little tree,
remembering the light,
and yet, it doesn't think or see;
it doesn't scratch or bite.

And, deep within the forest,
someone stands upright,
unacknowledged and unblessed
but perfectly polite...

Who has never closed his eyes
or thought he was alone,
and animates what otherwise
would only be cold stone.

His body is transparent;
you can almost see right through;
he's powerful and patient
and what he says is true.

His heart is pulsing crimson and
a shaft of morning light
shows something flashing in his hand;
he never has to fight.