Death of the Woodland Giant

The fallen giant lies athwart
A greening bed of moss,
His gnarled skin
All traced across
By the fairy shapes of ferns.

A forlorn figure he appears,
Fallen from his estate,
So tall and proud
Among the great,
Master of his domain.

His once-strong heart is failing now;
Death eating at his core,
His sap of life
Is in short store,
And chills in his old veins.

But curling fern strokes his grey face,
And moss steals slowly in,
Green creeper twines
His weathered skin...
He does not die alone.

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