The Treeman crept, creakily crack
crunching on root boots through forest floor
he tried to stay low, with a listerly bow
so his hunter would see him no more.
The Frosticle Prince, with his fricely dance
whispered through leafy glades
his eyes were spears, snowflakes for ears
his fingertips prickering blades.
The night was a blackness that shadowed his heart
as the Treeman snuckered along
he paused in his prowl by a friendly owl
and explained that he’d done nothing wrong.
The owl had eyes that reflected the moon
a yellowing, jaundiced glaze
with a scrimp of his wing he ushered him in
to the wimberling, towering maze.
‘Here you can stay, be safe from the Prince
no more do you need to run
just wait until daybreak and watch him flee
by the simmering rays of the sun.’
The Treeman was safe and lumbered into the maze
with a groaning glabouring crick
but when he turned round, what was it he found?
that the maze was a trappering trick.
For the Frosticle Prince was waiting there
with breath that was daggers of ice
and the Treeman cowered, his branches bowered
as he bode farewell to his life.
So let ye be warned, when winter comes
and the Prince comes looking for you
never trust the spy with the jaundiced eye
and the tongue that clamours ‘Coo Coo!’
Image courtesy of lauraw and firstname.lastname@example.org