Thorny branches shaking,

At villains so cold.

Their leaves are bobbing mop-tops,

Hair changing every season.

Their faces gnarled

In every bark;

Their hands ready to catch

A passing liar,

With his victim

Forlorn, worried, alone.

Her boyfriend’s in the law,

Her daddy’s long gone now,

But she won’t shout

Another word;

The trees are here,

And they have heard

Her gifts of love

Upon him now,

To save that lost soul.

But though birds nesting

Will shout out

‘Beware. Beware!’

She’ll never hear,

Buried five feet under.

The End

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