Olde is the wind that wanders
through the trees.
And olde whispers, stale, on the breeze.

'Midst the dim dips the sole
and low the branches hang O'er.

I lie by root and soil
lost to enchanted dream.

From whence the woods...
unsettled spores
that should yet rest stir.

Deep in the heart of the wood
rests a wise olde yew.

Deep in slumber he snores,
deep in slumber he dreams
deep in slumber he yawns.
When he wakes, with a mould on his breath,
he yawns... see less

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