The ancient oak clings to the hills as it has always done.

Remembering in its wooden core that time long gone,
When druid's fed it with grisly gore.
Burning by acidic rain like the lightening before.

Waiting,
Watching,
Remembering.

Feeding from dregs as roots find their way
Through all that remains of a different day.

Impact!
Flesh!
Blood!
Fire!

All as it was in days of yore.

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