The Spirit of The Forest By: Sophie Watson

The Spirit of the Forest comes
Creeping through the night,
Silently over pine needle floor.
His hair is long thin twigs,
Shadowed by the towering trees.
His eyes are silver, darting about.
He has clothes made of tree bark
And the bark flows softyly at night.
The twiggy hands, his shinning face
Both silver in the yellow moonlight.
His feet, so soft, his shoes are made
Of leaves, silently creeping through the
Forest. Softly, gently, smoothly he walks.
His voice, a crackle that breaks the
Silence of the night. Like a howling wolf
His shouts break out, through the forest.
No animal is ever afraid of him. His wooden
Sceptre, high above the brushes below the swaying
Trees.