The forest whispers my name.

Drizzling drops of rejuvenation fall, upon the aged green goblins. who arch over those that crawl. Microscopic militia, placate decay, removing the ashes of giants, to make fertile beds in which flowers lay. Dew-drips off of a Spider’s spindle, like sweat off of an artists brow, creativity crystallized upon her golden thimbles. Vampiric-bees sink their teeth into seductive nectar, they practice pollenous-piety in the name of their queen, by penetrating stamens and collecting her golden-elixir. A harlequin-wood-sprite orchestrates capricious-calamity, Whilst leaves whimsically wilt under the autumn sun, and the forests hushed tones whisper about the blue-gum’s infidelity.