as the bistering ray of hope
hits aged roots buried in stone
the moss which grows
on decaying ground

but wild grass can thrive
in its skull
although colored by rotten subsistence
once white as unspoiled flesh
slowly dissolves
now daplled black as foreseen is

when the hunter gathers his price
of golden mammoth teeth
and pride shall shift to lust
may it drive them forth

his barren throne left for none
reclaimed in time by moss
stone which carve through the flesh
an empty grave of kings

into
the dormand
giant's mouth
he crawls

but fall claims his cherished prize
and soon eyes betray, blight the Woods

carrier
of dignified surrender
ravaged tomb
holds no remains

from
the awakened
giant's mouth
he crawls