Tall upside-down whiskbrooms
Stand proudly whispering the secret of the woodlands.
They hear heavy pounding
TO THEIR LEFT. . .
TO THEIR RIGHT. . .
The threatening noise is insistent,
Becoming louder, Louder, LOuder, LOUder, LOUDer, LOUDEr, LOUDER
Until its' arrogance reaches the heavens.
It is their fate.
In farewell, the whiskbrooms stand proud
And, for the last time, they whisper the secret of the woods.
They are accepting.
They will never fight.