There's a tree deep in the forest where my dreams are often born,
In the knots that twist its branches there are powers no-one can scorn.
Since it's older by a distance than the oldest works of man
It has known all of our sorrows and has tracked our failing plan.
There's a dryad in the heartwood whom I visit every night,
When my body's lost in sleeping then her arms can hold me tight.
She has wings quite like an angel but her skin is polished wood
And I know that she would save me from a life that's never good.
Overnight I learn the secrets of the truth the woodlands see,
Of the balance in existence of the captive and the free.
How there's freedom in surrender and there's strength in being meek;
How a dryad knows the future though her owner cannot speak.
She's a slave that serves the forest and the tree that owns her soul
But despite her lowly status she is always in control
And she takes me in her passions and she shows me how to grow
In the ways of mother nature and the beauty she can show.
Should I choose to serve a master or a mistress in my life?
Would I see my true fulfilment as a servant not a wife?
There is nothing in her answers but a mocking cry to me
For a dryad it is simple:- she's the spirit of the tree.
Honorable mention
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