The Dryad Sleeps

The dryad sleeps within her wood
Her dreams are soft and warm
Of ancient roots, of moldering loam
Where next year’s young are born
Of creaking limbs, so hale and strong
They weather every storm.
Of fallen leaves, of fragrant cones
The needled floor adorn.

She dreams of days now lost to her
Along with withered youth
Of twilight forests she once roamed
Beneath God’s diamond roof
But in today’s harsh world of light
Science is the only truth
And where, outside of fantasy,
Is a dryad’s proof?

Sleep on sweet maiden of the wood
Hold fast onto your dreams
They are the last safe place for you –
And for me, too, it seems.