The Untamed Forest

From within a chirping thicket spoke by buzzing leaves.
From above the stormy gossip of a starling's nest,
came a rarely whispered rumor as a breathless breeze,
which balanced on the branches of decisive trees,
and gently was the hearsay and its burden laid to rest.

Quickly called to counsel were the sullen snow capped peaks.
Quietly escorted were the aged and ashen mounds.
And as the message of a melting sickle tenuously speaks
when dripping in the rapids of the eager untamed creeks,
our eager ears awaited, should the news drip to the ground.

Where a prophecy can be potent, if the forecast is correct,
so too, can fearless infidels find belief with timely dread,
but question not the cadence of the swinging architect,
whose hammer strokes are steady, till his image stands erect
Watched on by careless wanderers, secure in their own stead.

But think not quite as lightly of this quick and clever grove,
to linger on in leisure, while creation takes it's form.
Bare and most defenseless, as an unkempt pearl trove
Naked and endangered, as a twig inside a stove,
were our neighbors ill-prepared, for to face the coming swarm.

Some speak of threats and compromise, but such notions are expelled.
The thought alone builds haunting air unmatched by ghoul or ghost.
For when our forest grounds have mistakenly been dwelt,
through pincer or through poison bite, meddlers are felled,
till the rumor of this Walking Man is whispered at the most.