Wistman’s Wood

We are the stewards of rock, granite soft-socked

We are the speakers in whispers, earth vespers

We are the singers to night-skies, leaf lullabies

We are the wearers of mist, moistly kissed

We are the tethered, root-firm against weather

We are the breath,

We are the blood.

Will you walk with the witches of Wistman’s Wood?