You once would pass the entrance to this wood

And wonder of the mysteries denied,

But curiosity is just what should

Convince someone like you to go inside.

My trail you followed, finding it was cold

As night was near, you pitched your tent, a spire.

My branches reaching down, you grabbed a hold

And with my wooden arms you built a fire.

In finding that this forest was sublime,

You've built yourself a cabin of my pride.

By fireplace you dwelt, not minding time,

But two years have since passed, now look outside:

In stumpy desolation, cold returned.

For all the wood i had, you've chopped and burned.

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