Vengence will be hers …

The leaves preened in the morning light,

“It is us who put the food on the table, without us you would shrivel and die”

.

.

The branches looked down on them in disdain,

“You are barely hanging there at our mercy, a slight twitch, and you will be flying adrift in pain”
.

.

The trunk’s baritone silenced them for long,
“You two are nothing but quibbling children, for it is I who protects you by braving the swelling storm”
.

.

“But I am not done yet ” wheezed in the ancient roots, “for I am the father of you all, to the boot”
.

.

And so continued an eons old argument, through trees of every size and breed, Until… there came an unknown storm – a biped out to destroy every trunk root and seed.
.

.

“So who’s the master off ye all?” scoffed the man, brandishing his bloodied Axe…
The nature’s spirit rumbled in the bowels of the nether world, “the tree is mine and so is every storm, “I suffer neither fools nor braggarts, so be warned”
.

.

For every downed tree, the spirit groans in pain, until there would be a day when it’s dam of forbearance will wash away …
.

.

Beware, beware, beware the coming of that day…

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