As I was walking the weyrd woods, all the wylde things of natyure fell from my mynde and scattered themselves into the trees. Left and right, they ran, squealing, into the undergrowth, there to grow fat on the workings of my ‘magination.
A shape seeking shade on my right may have been light on leaves ‘fore my feet fell foursquare on the course. Then, as I looked, that shape shimmered and said to my eyes a troubling tale of terrible woe.
Once was a princess who was waltzed away beguiled by a beast of chameleon charms. His bright coat and handsome face fell to rags and rage once he held her in the foliage by the bottom of the garden. She was never touched again by human hands.
Then were kind and tender villagers who, pulled by the plight of the fair princess lost, found, to their cost, that dark depths ‘tween trees, and spaces so foul that the breeze did not ease them, could snaffle and snare the innocent mares and render their menfolk dazzled and gone.
Their shadows I saw as I passed by the maw of the beast and his feast and the moan of the breeze was the sigh and unease of the villagers searching and losing the princess’s trail again and again.
Hearing their woe, I turned and I fled and I stayed in my bed for three days. And the wylde creatures roamed underneath and before in the dark as I shivered with dread.